


Steel Forged in Fire

by SwordofRebecca



Category: Gensou Suikogaiden, Suikoden II
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2020-02-15 21:30:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18677731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwordofRebecca/pseuds/SwordofRebecca
Summary: Camus makes a decision and takes some strolls down memory lane.





	1. The Flame Siren

**Author's Note:**

> This happened as a result of Malazan. It started in Midnight Tides, and then in Reaper's Gale: REDMASK happened. I pictured Clant, and from there, Suikoden re-emerged as THE BIG THING. It's always been on the back of my mind, but now it's not. Clant is one of my favorite characters in the series and a powerful muse, despite being a very minor character. 
> 
> I've thought of the Camus/Clant pairing for years, but have done nothing with it until now. I'm aware of the canon in Suikoden about Matilda, but it had no effect on my own headcanon that I had honestly had for years(before the wikis/pedias). Some of it, however, is recent, but since this is fanfic, I guess it doesn't matter, especially since a lot of the info is contradictory or scant(in the case of Clant). One of the advantages of Clant being a "paper thin" character is that it gives me a lot of leeway, imo. 
> 
> Ended up with original characters, but I guess that couldn't be helped. Like with the vast majority of longer fic, I make no promises, but I hope to finish this one. Anyway, enjoy. Hell, I enjoy Clant. :)

 

The village said nothing but a single phrase.

 

“He’s still alive!”

 

 _He_ _’s still alive._ Camus heard only that phrase. He saw only the unconscious man who lay at his and Miklotov’s booted feet. The sun did not exist to him, the wind cooled him down, the clouds knew better than to give any of them shade.

 

Clant. Camus remembered. White Knight Captain who had deserted a scant few months ago when the Dunan War ended. The White Knight Captain who went from bandit leader to someone wearing an x-shaped wound on his chest. His breath came out in quick, staggered gasps, but his eyes remained closed and only his blood moved as it leaked out over his flame decorated cheongshan. Feelings old and new flooded through Camus, memories filled his mind like pictures filling eyes. He would not allow himself to forget.

 

“What do we do?” Miklotov asked, his piercing dark eyes intent on Camus. He looked uncertain, confused. He took a step back.

 

Camus held his sword over the center of the X. One thrust. All it would take is one push and the blade would pass through Clant’s sternum and into his heart. He understood why people in the small village of Milit would want Clant dead, but no one said anything, not even those who directly helped. Not even Maki, Camus’ childhood friend, who suffered a leg injury because of Clant. The entire village held its breath.

 

“No,” Camus finally said, thrusting his sword on the ground. “I can’t and I won’t.” He looked directly at Miklotov. “He is our responsibility.”

 

Miklotov lowered his chin, but Camus knew that his dear “Misha” was privately smiling and he reflected that smile. The villagers said nothing, stared blankly at each other, and decided that simple defeat was more than enough. Camus knelt down beside Clant, putting his ear over the still beating heart, ignoring the blood seeping into his light brown hair, and activated a healing rune.

 

“You could have used that sooner!” Maki finally said.

 

But, Camus only smiled. She was right. He could have used it during the first phase of the raid instead of sitting in bed for days relying on herbs and the help of his friends, but the healing magic would have put him in a healing sleep for far too long and he no interest in going into such a sleep. Clant, on the other hand, would be getting such a sleep and Camus decided that it would stay that way until he and Miklotov were well out of the village.

 

_We have a lot to discuss, you and I. And Miklotov._

 

_***_

 

 

Camus was fourteen when he first arrived in Matilda from distant Camaro. He became a squire in less than one month and better yet, got the attention of Red Knight Captain, Uriah, LEGENDARY knight. The others could do nothing but look in awe and wonder if Camus would make the White Knights, the highest of the elite. Camus couldn’t help but like that, but he always made it a point to never lord it over others.

 

It wasn’t long after that when he first heard a voice coming from the highest tower in Rockaxe—a high baritone voice that greeted the dawn after very early training. Uriah was with him, looking up before shaking his blond head.

 

“The Flame Siren,” he said.

 

Camus followed his gaze, but couldn’t see anything but the shadow of a man. “Who is that? A bard?”

 

Uriah smiled. “Honestly, he should have been, but nope, he’s a newly avowed White Knight.”

 

“Don’t people get annoyed with the singing?” Camus wondered, remembering how Uriah had to drag him out of bed for squirely duties. “I mean, aren’t people trying to sleep?”

 

“No one says anything,” Uriah answered. “People have learned to call him the “Flame Siren” and they leave him be.”

 

“I thought a siren was meant to attract people and then those people end up dead.” Camus frowned. “It’s a sea creature, right?”

 

“Not this one,” Uriah replied. “Ever since he claimed that spot, people learned well enough to stay away. Hell, I don’t even go up there and I’m a damned Captain.”

 

“Oh,” Camus looked back the tower, but it was shrinking in the distance, along with the voice that climbed the wind and walls. “Newly avowed? Is he my age?”

 

“Ha!” Uriah barked. “No. I really wish you could have seen how and why he became a White Knight. If my numbers are right, he’s twenty-one, which is actually the average age for any kind of Knight, but he took his time and when he finally spurred,” Uriah shook his head, “man did he fly through the ranks once he did. He’s currently second lieutenant, but it’s predicted that he’ll be beating the shit out of one of the first lieutenants the moment next year happens. Beyond that? Well, I wish him good luck against that mountain Boris.”

 

Camus shrugged, helplessly smiling at the idea that one day, he too may be challenging someone for a promotion. He learned early on that the officers with the most respect were the ones who dueled for their promotions rather than going through more conventional channels. “I like how things are done here,” He suddenly blurted.

 

Uriah halted, a smile creeping up on his handsome face. “So do a lot of people. Keeps you on your toes and keeps others entertained. Honestly, I think you’ll make it far.” He continued walking through the streets that would soon waken with Rockaxe activity.

 

“A White Knight?” Camus ventured.

 

“That remains to be seen,” Uriah replied. “To be honest, it’s not likely and to be even more honest, I’m hoping you stay among the Reds. I like you, and so does my First of the First.”

 

When Camus heard that, he glowed red. A Legendary Knight likes _him_ , a teen squire, but he did his best to remain impassive and keep other feelings to himself. He knew that he was too young to get any ideas and the disparate ranks didn’t help any. He didn’t doubt for a second that Uriah thought the same. He could hear it now: _grow some pubes first, boy. If I want a man, I_ _’ll get with an actual man._

 

It wouldn’t have surprised Camus if he was already taken anyway, but he didn’t dare ask. Instead, “Do you think I’ll meet that ‘flame siren’?”

 

Uriah answered with a shrug. “I don’t see why not, but White Knights move differently from every one else, so it’ll take awhile, I’m sure.”

 

Camus said nothing to that, only quietly sighed. _If I meet him, I meet him. If I don_ _’t, I don’t. Whatever. Still…_ When he looked over to Uriah, who was now focused on getting into Rockaxe castle, he realized that things were fine the way they were anyway. It wasn’t too long before Camus discovered that the “Flame Siren” did indeed do what Uriah predicted.

 

 ***

 

Two years later, Camus sat in what had to be the most crowded coffee house in the world. About twenty feet away, someone was standing on a stage reading poetry that led to nothing but boos and laughter. A few feet away, however, Uriah and his ‘First of the First’ Baudin sat across from each other, making it very easy for Camus to hear the both of them, at least as much as he could in a loud, full house.

 

“By the gods, that has got to be the worst poetry ever.” Baudin shook his head, and sipped from his coffee that he had called “Shadow Coffee.” Camus didn’t understand what that meant, but he kept his eyes on his own coffee, a basic light roast from Muse. Baudin continued, “Want a cure for insomnia? Listen to this crap.” He ran his hand through dark hair before pointing at the guy on stage.

 

“The real cure for insomnia is not drinking all that,” Uriah lifted his chin towards the “Shadow Coffee.”

 

Baudin laughed loud enough for people to turn their heads. To Camus, he looked a bit insane. “So says the man drinking a bucket full of that!” He pointed at the extra large cup Uriah held in his hands. Uriah lightly shrugged while taking a sip.

 

“I don’t drink the way you do,” he replied.

 

The two men continued their banter while Camus looked around the coffee house. Every part of the wall had some kind of artwork on it, every corner had a statue or plant of some sort. No space was safe from artisan work and Camus couldn’t help but smile at that. Compared to Matilda, Camaro was desolate, and he knew that his life would have been desolate if he had chosen to stay there.

 

“Excuse me,” someone with a heavy accent spoke from above him. “May I sit here?”

 

Camus looked up at the source of the voice and saw a boy around his age. He had dark eyes and hair similar to Baudin only this boy’s hair was shorter and cleaner cut. His clothing screamed “I am a squire like you.” He had never seen this boy before, so that meant that he stayed in a different barracks. Or maybe Camus wasn’t paying much attention. Whatever the case, Camus nodded, “Sure”.

 

“Thank you,” he sat down. Both Baudin and Uriah suddenly looked at them, causing the boy to blush. “Am I doing something wrong? Am I wrong to sit here?”

 

“No, not at all,” Camus replied before suddenly leaning forward. “Do they know you?”

 

The boy shrugged. “Maybe through a man named Boris. He has been a friend of mine since I was a child.”

 

Camus blinked. “White Knight Captain?”

 

“Yes. People don’t believe it, but he is a family friend and has been for many years.” He suddenly shook his head. “Forgive me! Where are my manners?” He held his hand out. “I am Miklotov, and you?”

 

“Oh shit!” Camus heard Baudin exclaim before hearing Uriah shush him.

 

“I’m Camus.” He took Miklotov’s hand and he noted how strong that hand was while they shook.

 

“You’re doomed…” Baudin sounded like a ghost. Uriah simply rolled his eyes.

 

“May I ask why you’d say that, sir?” Camus asked. Miklotov only looked confused.

 

Uriah was the one who answered. “I guess I’ve been taking you with me way too often. Either that or I need to beat the obliviousness out of you. I’ll put it simply, that squire won’t be staying one for long. He’s like you.”

 

“I wager stronger,” Baudin added and then shrugged. “Hey, kid, I have to be honest.”

 

Miklotov merely shook his head. “I am not that strong.” His small smile, however, told Camus another story.

 

“False humility doesn’t become you, squire!” Uriah replied, causing Miklotov to gasp with widened eyes.

 

“No.” Miklotov shook his head. “You are right, sir. Please…I am a terrible liar.” He smiled. “Forgive me.”

 

Before Camus could say anything, he heard a waitress exclaim from behind him, at the counter. “You just haven’t found the right person!”

 

“Even if I did, what makes you think it’d be you?”

 

Camus frowned at that voice. Like Miklotov’s, it was strongly accented, but it sounded much different. Like the ‘you’ sounded like a ‘ye’ or a ‘ya’. He also spoke faster. Uriah looked over his shoulder before looking away and staring into his cup. Baudin sighed as he found the ceiling attractive.

 

“I’ve got nice tits!” The woman answered.

 

“Not good enough. Half of Matilda has nice tits and some of them aren’t married. You shouldn’t be flirting; you’re a married woman.”

 

This response drew loud sighs from both of Camus’ superiors. Miklotov tilted his head. “He’s right. You shouldn’t,” he whispered. Camus wanted to say that he didn’t agree, but the words weren’t coming out as he preferred to listen.

 

“Aw, you’re no fun!” The waitress answered.

 

“I’ll have plenty of fun at the tower with a nice, strong coffee.”

 

“I’ll get it right to you!”

 

Other coffee house voices drowned them out and Camus looked over at his superiors.

 

“That was the ‘Flame Siren”, Uriah said.

 

“Who?” Miklotov asked.

 

“The man who sings at the Castle Tower,” Baudin replied.

 

Miklotov frowned. “I’ve never heard of him.”

 

“You will,” Camus said. “He’s up there fairly often.”

 

Baudin put his hands on his forehead, his eyes widening like he was about to go into a trance. “I predict that Camus and Miklotov will be fighting each other some day.”

 

“Uhm,” Miklotov looked down. “If he’s right, then I hope it’s a good one and that we can be friends.”

 

Camus simply shrugged. “I don’t see why not. I think it’s good to have a friendly rival.”

 

 

That night, Camus and Miklotov walked through Rockaxe. Hardly anybody walked the streets that were lit with red lamps on every corner. Camus had learned that Miklotov was born and raised in Matilda as a sick child who eventually grew into someone that officers noticed and if they noticed, then so did everyone else, except, well, those like Camus. He realized that he needed to be more observant because no matter his rank, he wasn’t interested in being blindsided. He honestly found himself wondering if the “Flame Siren” noticed Miklotov and then quickly wondered why he should care.

 

A sudden baritone from far above answered the question. Camus stopped.

 

“What is it?” Miklotov asked, looking up at the tower. “It’s him? That ‘Flame Siren’?”

 

“Boris never told you? I mean, that singer is supposed to be a first lieutenant to him.”

 

“We don’t see each other often right now and when we do, I never think to ask about his first lieutenants. I am busy with my training. So are you, yes?”

 

Camus nodded. “True.”

 

“Why does it matter? We are squires and he is, well,” Miklotov pursed his lips, “A ‘flame siren’. What a strange thing to be called.” He resumed walking. “He has a nice voice though. I like it.”

 

“Yea, me too.”

 

“Are you, well…forgive me for asking, interested in him? As a friend? Eh, something else?”

 

“To be honest, I don’t know. I do have someone in mind.”

 

“May I ask who?”

 

Camus grinned. “Uriah.”

 

Miklotov gasped. “Wow! You aim high. I would not dare even think about it.”

 

“Well,” Camus shrugged, “I always admired him. He was one of the reasons why I left Camaro. I wanted to be him and not a mere squire back home serving someone I don’t even look down at, much less look up to.”

 

“I see,” Miklotov nodded. “I too would leave if Matilda was like Camaro.”

 

“It’s fine if you’re firstborn.” _Or if you had a really good family._

 

“But still…I don’t know why they do things that way. Your birth order shouldn’t matter.”

 

“No, but I wouldn’t be here, I wouldn’t have a chance with Uriah, and I wouldn’t be hearing about that ‘Flame Siren’ no one wants to name.”

 

“Don’t you think Uriah is too old for you? It could be dangerous for the both of you. I doubt he would be interested in mere boys like us. Unless…” Miklotov trailed off.

 

“He’s no creep if that’s what you’re wondering,” Camus answered, noting that they were now beyond the ‘siren’s’ voice. He suppressed the desire to ask Miklotov about climbing that tower. “I know better than to try anything now, believe me. When I’m finally old enough then,” Camus helplessly smiled. “I think I’ll have a good chance.”

 

Miklotov gasped. “I wish I had your confidence.”

 

“I thought you did.”

 

“Not like this! My gods, to even think of having a crush on someone like Uriah. I couldn’t.”

 

“Maybe you haven’t found the right person,” Camus said with a smile. He had hoped that Miklotov would retort the way the “Flame Siren” did, but that was not to be. Instead, Miklotov shook his head.

 

“I don’t even think about that.” He even frowned. “Why would you? Why would any squire do so? Honestly, you should concentrate on being a Knight.”

 

“You’re right…you’re right,” Camus couldn’t help but quietly chuckle. Of course Miklotov was right, but Camus felt what he felt, and he figured that he could always have both.

 

*** 

 

The next two years consisted of training, of sparring, of dueling for ranks, of occasionally going on patrols at the Matilda borders with Uriah, of hearing the elusive “Flame Siren” while walking to and from his barracks, of coffee shops, taverns and everything else Matilda had to offer. Miklotov, who Camus was eventually allowed to call “Misha”, proved to be his favorite sparring partner. Only Miklotov kept him on his toes, only Miklotov fed him both victory and defeat. Camus wondered what would happen during the tests. He had hoped to be a White Knight, but the more he fought with anyone at all, the more he realized that Red might very well be the best he could hope for.

 

Then, he’d see Uriah and decided that Red would indeed the best option. He knew it was biased, but he didn’t care; he was considered an adult now and he could pursue his own Captain. He didn’t doubt that it would be controversial, but the faster he rose among the ranks, the less likely anyone would say anything.

 

 _I will be your First of the First._ Camus smiled as he walked down the streets of Rockaxe to gather items for a routine patrol at the Grasslands to the North. Everywhere else, that title was also known as “Number One” or “First Mate”, but he decided that Matilda was the best of everything; at least for him. _I have grown my pubes, Captain. Soon, I will be a Knight. Wow_ _…the youngest next to Miklotov. I’ll be an actual man._

 

Then the voice reached his ears and he would have stopped had it not been for the fact that the streets were crowded. So, he moved over to the building that led to the tower. He didn’t see any guards around and yet he hesitated at the door. He remembered Uriah’s words:

 

“ _Ever since he claimed that spot, people learned well enough to stay away. Hell, I don’t even go up there and I’m a damned Captain.”_

 

For the first time in four years, Camus wonder WHY people did that. Sure, that “Flame Siren” was a White Knight “First of the First”, but he was still outranked by both Boris and Gorudo, the Knight Commander. Surely one of them would say something. He did hear talk of only Gorudo being the only one to “snuff out the Flame Siren”, but he never saw it happen. He shrugged. _Doesn_ _’t prove anything, but still…_

 

“What are you doing there, squire?” Uriah appeared behind him. “You’re supposed to be preparing for our march.”

 

“Oh,” Camus rested his forehead against the hard, cool, wooden door. “I well, to be honest, felt drawn here.”

 

Uriah rolled his green eyes. “Here we go again. This is a siren you shouldn’t be drawn to. No one goes up unless Gorudo commands it, Captain Boris is with you, or ‘he’ invites you. Basically, you have to be someone close to him.”

 

“Sir, may I ask why?” Camus frowned, looking up at the walls. “I know his rank, but he was like this for years it seems. How does someone like him have that kind of power?”

 

“Put it this way,” Uriah replied, “play with fire and you get burned. Some people have learned it the hard way.”

 

“Maybe he’s favored by the right people,” Camus asked, feeling very flushed all of the sudden.

 

But, Uriah simply nodded. “Sounds about right.” He waved Camus forward. “Come on, we’ve got work to do. The borders won’t patrol themselves.”

 

 _No they certainly wouldn_ _’t,_ Camus thought as he followed Uriah. Things were coming together for him. He inwardly snickered at the ‘coming’ part. All he had to do was simply become a Knight, bide his time, and communicate his feelings. Then, he would have a better chance to be with the man he had long admired. “Maybe the Flame Siren can sing for us sometime.” _At our blood oath. Hah_ _…wow…me…but, I would love that. At least to try for it. The worst that can happen is he says no._

 

Uriah shook his head. “Highly unlikely.”

 

“Does he have a name?” Camus finally asked after four years of being in Matilda. He couldn’t believe that it never occurred to him to ASK.

 

“Sure does. His name is Clant.”

 

Camus blinked. “Clant?” _His parents must have hated him._ Camus knew better than to voice that.

 

“Yes. In one language it means “klutz.”

 

“WHAT!?”

 

Uriah chuckled, “Yea. If only his parents could see him now.”

 

“So, he’s not…that?”

 

Uriah shook his head. “Oh no. You’ll see. Someday, you’ll have to. Anyway, ‘Clant’ is actually the name of a market in the Zexen Grasslands. That’s likely what he was named after.” Uriah shrugged. “I guess it doesn’t matter now. They were probably too drunk to name him properly.”

 

Camus found himself looking around at the stone walls that defined Rockaxe. He suddenly felt wrong. “Uhm…Sir, I think that’s a bit much.”

 

“Ah,” Uriah nodded. “You’re right. If you ever meet him, be very careful about that subject.”

 

“Are they at least proud of him?” Camus suddenly asked, knowing full well that most of his own family wouldn’t be, just resentful. Only his own father and grandmother would have been genuinely proud; he knew that much.

 

“The dead can’t be proud of anything. Drinking in excess shortens lives.”

 

“Oh…I see.”

 

“Are you interested in him, by any chance?” Uriah suddenly asked as they found themselves closer to a supply shop Camus was supposed to be at a whole lot sooner.

 

Camus shrugged. “No. I mean, not in that way.” _Not like you._ Camus desperately wanted to say that, but couldn’t bring himself to. Not yet. “I just find him fascinating and really, I have someone else in mind.” He found himself smiling.

 

“Miklotov?”

 

“No.” _You._ “I’ll tell you later.”

 

 ***

 

Except later never came. Camus sat on the edge of his bed trying to go through the blur that plagued his mind. Bandits, yes Grassland bandits, but all Camus remembered was that they wore various shades of red, brandishing various kinds of weapons, including bows. The Red Knights killing most of them. Uriah reminding people why he was considered a “Legendary Knight”. The spells he cast, the swordsmanship. _Gods. I was lucky to be anywhere near him, much less his squire. He chose me._ A tear fell down Camus’s cheek as one memory refused to be a blur: Uriah on his horse, looking down in horror at an arrow sticking out from right under his heart. He would have fallen from his horse had it not been for him and Baudin.

 

Healers had been certain that Uriah would survive and every one in Matilda shared that same certainty. How could they not? No way a Legendary Red Knight Captain dies from a stray arrow. Someone like that retired a hero and lived out their days with someone they loved.

 

“Someone like me…” Camus found himself whispering, unable to suppress a sob. He thought of Baudin, who looked absolutely broken. There would be duels, no doubt. In any other country, the chain would simply move up and Baudin would become Captain and promotions would be made from there, but neither First Lieutenant wanted it that way. They had time to fight, so they would, and the same was clear for the second lieutenants waiting in the wings for that one spot. Beyond that? Camus didn’t know or care.

 

Camus sighed, wondering why it all mattered now. Uriah died. _Died and now he is ash at the age of thirty-four._ More tears fell from his face as found himself standing up and almost running out of his small room.

 

He ran through the streets of Rockaxe, toward that damned tower. He could have sworn he heard singing there and he wanted the Flame Siren to SHUT THE FUCK UP! _Just shut up!_ _Can_ _’t you see that Uriah is dead, siren? Clant!? SHUT UP! I don’t care if I’m only a squire! Just shut up!_

 

Camus stood at the door, ready to knock, to demand entrance, to see the “Flame Siren” once and for all, but he found himself gasping for air, unable to do anything more than stare at that hardwood door.

 

“What are you doing here? This is White Knight territory.”

 

Camus froze. _That voice. By the Runes_ _…it’s._ He slowly turned around and saw a ghost. Or rather it looked like one. White hooded cloak, white coat, black trousers, white boots, white mask. _Mask?_ Camus blinked; he didn’t remember anyone wearing a mask among the knights. He wondered why any knight would. He couldn’t even see his eyes as the holes were covered in white mesh. He could, however, see the gloveless hands over folded arms and they were beautiful hands. Camus quickly looked into those mesh covered eyes.

 

“I…I…” Camus finally stammered. _Damn it! Say something!_

 

“You’re that squire, aren’t you? Uriah’s.”

 

He managed a nod, using whatever will he left to keep his crying to himself. No way in hell would he show any tears to “the Flame Siren”.

 

“Oh…” The Flame Siren looked down. “How unfortunate.” He looked back at Camus. “You desired him for yourself, didn’t you?”

 

Camus gasped. “How…” He quickly wondered if Miklotov might have said something as he was the only one who could possibly know, but he wasn’t able to finish that thought or say anything as the Flame Siren continued.

 

“So did I.” Before Camus could even react, the Flame Siren held up his hands. “Don’t worry. Not in that way. Rather, I was always hoping we would be friends. Him and Baudin.” He shook his hooded head. “But, they always seemed to keep their distance. I suppose I can’t blame them.”

 

“He must have told Boris…” Camus muttered.

 

The Flame Siren tilted his head. “Eh?” He then nodded. “Ah, of course. Rest assured, that boy meant no harm.”

 

“Oh, I know, I know.” Camus smiled. _Oh Misha_ _…_

 

“It also never went past me and it never will. You have my word.”

 

“Thanks, but it doesn’t matter if the world knows. I don’t think it ever mattered.”

 

“You’ll be a knight soon.”

 

Camus frowned. “That wasn’t a question.”

 

“I know it wasn’t.”

 

“Yes,” Camus replied as certainty wrote its name across his soul. _Runes, I love that voice._ “Oh yes, I will be a Knight. I’ll be dueling Miklotov.”

 

The Flame Siren nodded. “Ah, fitting, don’t you think?” Camus could have sworn that he was smiling under that mask.

 

“Very. He’s my best sparring partner.”

 

“Good! That’s good! It’s important to have rivals like him. Keeps you strong; it’s good to be strong.”

 

Sudden tears stung Camus’ eyes. He managed to swallow them, but barely. “Uriah…he was strong.”

 

A sigh blew past the mask. “Indeed he was…I offer my condolences. I wish…” He sighed again. “If only…”

 

“Excuse me,” Camus replied, feeling his chest tighten. “I need to head back. I’m sorry.”

 

If ‘The Flame Siren’ replied at all, Camus didn’t hear it. Instead he heard his black boots echo against the pavement as he ran back to his room.

 

*** 

 

“Please, forgive me,” Miklotov said while they sat at the upper bleachers of the arena, barely paying attention to the two Red Second Lieutenants dueling below. One of them would become “Second of First.”

 

“Don’t worry about it it, Misha,” Camus replied. “If Uriah…if…” He didn’t resist when Miklotov put his arm around his shoulder. “I wouldn’t have cared who knew. I honestly wouldn’t. What could anyone do?” _Other than shoot Uriah, but those were bandits._

 

“I’m afraid we’re not that powerful yet,” Miklotov said, “With things like that, you have to be careful.”

 

Camus failed to suppress a laugh. “Because that’s what you would have been, right? I know you, Misha.”

 

“Mmm…okay, fine. You’re right,” Miklotov smiled. “Still, I should have known that Boris would say something.”

 

“I said don’t worry about it,” Camus answered. “Honestly, I’m more worried about that damned arrow. It was made in Matilda.”

 

Miklotov pulled back. “What? Well, perhaps a quiver was stolen.”

 

“That’s what you think, but come on, you’ve lived here all your life. How easy do you think it would be to steal from any of the stores? Those bandits have been around for years, far longer than I’ve been here.” He clenched his jaw before saying, “I hate the fact that it took so damned long to kill most of them and why did it take Uriah getting shot for people to finally notice the arrows? Just WHY?”

 

“Shh…Camus.”

 

“You’re right,” Camus agreed, lowering his voice. “Baudin thinks it was an ex-knight who shot Uriah.”

 

Miklotov blinked. “What? Why? How do you know?”

 

“Something happened years ago and I do mean years ago. We were both children. Uriah had nothing to do with it, but those bandits generally stayed around Matilda. Every time they were pushed back, they’d come back later.”

 

“They should have been annihilated!” Miklotov nearly shouted, causing others to look at them.

 

“Shh…Miklotov,” Camus admonished, helplessly smiling.

 

Miklotov narrowed his eyes. “Right, of course. My apologies.” He quietly chuckled.

 

“Anyway, we’ll find out when we go back out there with Captain Baudin.”

 

“Hmm…” Miklotov looked down at the arena. The duel had concluded and now preparations were made for the main event. “I wish I could go with you, but my Knight is a Blue.” He shrugged, but then looked sharply at Camus. “Wait. What makes you think Baudin will be Captain?”

 

“Are you kidding me?”

 

Miklotov shrugged. “You never know.”

 

“I know,” Camus smirked.

 

And sure enough, Camus did. If he had to describe it, he would say that Baudin acted like a series of relentless ocean waves backed with a two handed sword and a berserker’s shout. The opponent, Raymond, held his own or tried to, but it wasn’t enough and he yielded in less than five minutes.

 

“Water Rune, eh?” Miklotov commented.

 

“With Uriah, they were known as the Tidal Wave. Baudin still has it, but…” He looked down, swallowing more tears. “It won’t be the same. Raymond uses an Earth rune and fire is his secondary. So, for Baudin, he’ll have to look elsewhere for united attacks.”

 

“What about you?”

 

“I doubt it. Seems that fire works best for me.”

 

“Hmph. You could have fooled me,” Miklotov narrowed his eyes. “You don’t seem passionate enough.”

 

“Baudin isn’t cold enough for water,” Camus shrugged. “And I don’t see you with a preference for fire.”

 

Miklotov grinned. “Wind is passionate too.”

 

 ***

 

Camus gaped at the scorched everything in front of him. Captain Baudin mirrored that same look and if horses had human expressions, they would do it too. Camus steadied his skittish horse.

 

“Wow…” He managed to utter.

 

Baudin nodded. “Yea, wow.” They wowed even more when they saw the last of the bandits. “Chopped to pieces…others were burned alive. Unreal…”

 

“Sir, with all due respect, wouldn’t you have done the same?” Camus asked.

 

“Heh.” Baudin half-smiled before shaking his head. “Not like this. Not my style. Sure, I’d take off an arm, preferably the sword arm, but fire has never been my thing. Even if it was, I can’t imagine burning people alive.”

  
“This is Clant’s doing, sir, has to be,” Raymond said while approaching them on his own horse.

 

“Now that I can believe,” Baudin agreed.

 

“Wait…the Flame Siren?” Camus’s eyes widened.

 

“Yup,” Raymond replied. “Can’t imagine anyone else going this far.”

 

“Why would he…” Camus trailed off before gasping. Both his superiors looked at him. “I, well, I spoke to him.”

 

Baudin raised his eyebrows. “You spoke to him? And lived to tell about it?” Both he and Raymond started laughing.

 

“Yes,” Camus looked down at his reins before looking back up at Baudin. “He basically told me that he wanted to be friends with you and Uriah.”

 

Baudin shook his head. “No way. Clant hates everyone.”

 

“He’s also incredibly annoying, squire,” Raymond added. “The higher you climb, the more you’ll see it.” He set his jaw. “I’m putting it mildly, by the way.”

 

“Whatever the case, the White Knights stole our kill,” Baudin quickly changed the subject. “And I don’t doubt for a second Clant led the charge. Boris is never this ruthless nor would he allow it. Neither would Gorudo.”

 

“Chopped to pieces…” Camus whispered, looking at the corpses. He felt cold, very cold. “These are the ex-knights, right?”

 

“Yes, they are,” Baudin nodded. “They’re still recognizable, but I can’t believe they held on for so long. I guess some people really can hold grudges that last a lifetime. All that drama started years ago over some petty family quarrel.”

 

Camus gaped. “Really?”

 

“The Vice-Commander at the time was Louis’ uncle,” Baudin continued, looking at the hacked corpse while Red Knights collected all the bandit gear they could find. “Louis was friends with the charred corpse over there.” He pointed at what looked to Camus like burnt meat. “That guy was Philippe. The Vice-Commander wanted them to end their friendship in the name of ‘family loyalty’.” He smiled when Camus rolled his eyes. “Yea, I can’t blame you for that, squire. Anyway, he threatened to have Louis thrown out of the Knighthood if he didn’t comply.”

 

“What?” Camus blinked. “That can’t happen.”

 

“Yes, it can, but it’s very rare and you have to practically murder a baby in public to be removed dishonorably.”

 

Camus looked at the corpses. “So, they remained friends and were thrown out as a result, so they became bandits and now…”

 

“They were Red Knights,” Baudin stated, shaking his head. “They could have been anything they wanted to be, but instead,” he shrugged, “this.”

 

Raymond finally chimed in, “If it’s any consolation, all this shit led to Gorudo gaining power. He challenged the uncle and won. Uncle “Demanding Loyalty” retired right after that and was never seen again. Beyond that, it was only a question of time before he was elected Knight Commander.” He looked towards Matilda. “Then again, some people don’t see that as a consolation.”

 

“Gee, I wonder who those would be,” Camus chuckled.

 

“You’d be surprised, squire,” Raymond answered. “He’s never done a damned thing to me, but there have been more than a few people who consider him suspicious.”

 

“Will Clant get in trouble for this?” Camus suddenly asked. He couldn’t help but think that this was an overstepping of bounds.

 

Baudin raised his eyebrows, “If I was Knight Commander…” he trailed off before helplessly laughing. “To be honest, I would like his style. Sure, he went too far, and he’s not a Red Knight, but he had permission, I don’t doubt that. So, it’s certain that nothing will happen to him.”

 

Camus looked away. “But…Uriah…we should have been to ones to avenge him.”

 

“Yea, especially me, Squire,” Baudin answered. “He was my best friend, but Clant is Clant and he won’t even get a reprimand, not from Gorudo at least. However, I have a means of justice that Clant can’t touch. The arrows.” His eyes narrowed as his voice hardened. “I know who made them and no, they weren’t thefts. I’ll make them pay. I also outrank Clant for the time being, so don’t be surprised if I give him a bit of a reprimand.”

 

 ***

The only thing that surprised Camus was that he wasn’t able to witness anything. Actually, he shouldn’t have been surprised at all as he was still only a Squire, but that would change soon. He sat in a tavern that night, in a nice comfortable booth lit with candles that gave the atmosphere an air of romance. Miklotov sat across from him with a frown on his face.

 

“You’d love to have been a fly on the wall, wouldn’t you, Misha?” Camus asked. “I would have.”

 

Miklotov shrugged. “I don’t need to be. I have Boris. Obviously, he cannot say too much to me now, but still, I know enough. What I don’t understand is why he would allow this…Clant to do such a thing. Only Captain Baudin said anything against ‘The Flame Siren’ and even then, he seemed impressed, according to Boris.”

 

“Boris didn’t reprimand him?”

 

“Actually, he did,” Miklotov replied, “but not in front of the others. He acted accordingly. I doubt he was that upset though.” Miklotov leaned back. “I mean, really, who would shed tears for these bandits? This Louis killed Uriah after rampaging for many years. Who cares who did what?”

 

Camus pressed his lips together before saying, “I did. You know how I felt about Uriah, you know he was close to Captain Baudin, and you know how the remaining bandits died.”

 

Miklotov nodded. “Of course I do, but still, knights can be ruthless. Most would not be like Clant, but I know that I would have shown them no mercy, especially since they were ex-knights.”

 

“Yes, that,” Camus sighed. “The whole thing is sad.”

 

“What’s sad are the people they victimized, including Uriah.”

 

“I know that!” Camus snapped before sighing again. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m just pissy that I didn’t get to be the one to kill Louis.” He swallowed a mouthful of diluted liqueur that tasted like licorice. “Just the way it all started though. Over something that shouldn’t have mattered that much.”

 

“Indeed, and it ended with that man’s parents in prison where they belong.” Miklotov narrowed his eyes. “They were helping right under all of Rockaxe’s noses.”

 

Camus shrugged. “They were his parents. Hope he was worth it. They’re lucky they weren’t burnt alive or chopped to pieces.”

 

“Do you think Clant would have done that?”

 

“Who knows? I still barely know him. I admit that I would like to know more. I want to at least see for myself what he looks like. Can you believe that still hasn’t happened?”

 

“I can, actually,” Miklotov answered as he sipped from his drink. “He’s First of the First among the White Knights and we are not.”

 

“No,” Camus lifted his glass for a toast, “but, we will be.”

 

“White Knights?” Miklotov raised his eyebrows and then held up his own glass. “I’d love that.”

 

“I meant knight, Misha,” Camus chuckled. “We got to be realistic when aiming high.”

 

“Eh, fair enough,” Miklotov replied. “To Knighthood.”

 

“To Knighthood.”

 

As they clinked their glasses together, Camus thought of the Tower and the “Flame Siren” on top of it. That night, under the bright stars, both Squires walked slowly through Rockaxe and sure enough, the voice trailed down through the cool air.

 

“Ah, him again,” Miklotov said, looking around at some couples standing nearby, clearly listening. Even a dog sat at the walkway, looking up ready to howl, but never doing so.

 

“Yes, him again,” Camus nodded with a smile. “We should have invited him to join us.”

 

“What!?” Miklotov gaped. “No. Why? To ask him why he did what he did?”

 

“No. It’s obvious why he did it.” Camus paused in front of a nearby White Knight guard station. He tilted his head in the direction of the voice. “I think about him a lot, to be honest, and since Uriah died...” He trailed off with a sigh as Miklotov put a hand on his shoulder. “Thanks.” Camus managed to swallow his tears.

 

“It is my pleasure, friend,” Miklotov replied, holding Camus at arm’s length. The stars glittered against his piercing dark eyes. “We will duel soon. On that day, you will be my adversary and I will treat you as such.”

 

Camus shook his head with a chuckle. “I expect no less from you, Miklotov. Did I ever tell you that you were my favorite?”

 

“Hmph. You didn’t have to,” Miklotov smiled and clapped him on the shoulders. “We should head back, yes? It’s getting late.”

 

“You’re right.”

 

“Will you get up with me tomorrow morning? We can train before the dawn.”

 

“Eh, I don’t think so,” Camus answered, dreading even the thought of going out so damned early. Miklotov almost always did it and he never understood it. Something about beautiful sunrises, but Camus found more beauty in the later parts of the morning.

 

“I am sure to win then.” Miklotov held his head high as he spun on his heel and led the way back to the barracks.

 

As they walked away from the tower, neither one of them noticed that the “Flame Siren” had fallen silent.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. The Flame Halo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nash and Maki get a crash course on Matilda and what happened in Camus' past: His duel with Miklotov, his continued fascination with "The Flame Siren", the ever fun tavern talk, and someone always "younger and hungrier".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who know who Nash actually is, feel free to laugh.

“What a waste...” Nash suddenly said, bringing Camus back to the present. To the very room and bed Camus himself recovered in days before.

“I wouldn’t call it a waste,” Camus replied as he reached over to brush away a lock of hair from Clant’s face. “He’ll live.”

“He looks peaceful,” Maki said.

Camus nodded. “Heh, yea, for once.”

“Was he always this awful?” Nash asked.

Camus understood why Nash would ask that. After all, Clant’s first impression was to pretend to be the “Flame Champion” and then raid villages for treasure and supplies. Milit suffered quite a bit of damage from Clant’s firepower and Camus knew that no one in the village would forget that. Especially not since the center of the village turned into a Rage Rune shaped crater.

“It’s complicated,” Miklotov answered and then looked away.

“Yea, it is,” Camus agreed. “I don’t think he was ever a terrible person, but he had...problems.”

“He’s like me,” Miklotov said with a small smile.

“I don’t see you engaging in banditry and blowing up villages if they don’t give in to your demands!” Nash snapped. “If he abused either one of you, then don’t make excuses!”

“I’m not making excuses!” Camus held his hands up. “He...well...” He looked back down at Clant. The ruined flame decorated cheongshan had been removed and replaced with a simple black shirt. The rest remained, except for the hair ties and it gave Clant’s hair a halo effect. A halo of flame. Camus sighed. “He didn’t know how to have an actual relationship. Not a romantic one.”

“A WHAT!?” Maki almost shrieked.

“Yup.” Camus helplessly smiled. “He was my first actual lover and I was his first.” 

Silence filled the room until Nash pointed at Clant. “Him? He? How?”

“Yes! How?” Maki gasped. She shook her head. “What about him?” She pointed at Miklotov.

Camus rubbed at his neck. “Well, er, he’s the second and current one!”

“Permanent one!” Miklotov snapped. “Remember our oath!”

Camus wanted to vanish as a blush spread across his face. “Of course, of course, but every one here already knows about us. Him? Not so much.”

He decided to go ahead and tell them what he had been thinking while helping the villagers clean up and deal with the dead bandits, a couple of whom he recognized as Clant’s friends. Yet another thing to discuss. When he finally finished, he looked over to both Nash and Maki. 

Nash looked down before nodding. “Merit based. I like it too.”

Maki, on the other hand, shook her head. “Dueling for rank? It’s what clans did many years ago. To me, all it proves is that you’re a good fighter. That doesn’t make you a good leader.”

“Knights in Matilda would not agree,” Miklotov replied. “Our ways have worked for many years.”

“But, won’t that make higher-ups paranoid though? And what about those who lose?” Maki asked.

“Anyone who’s paranoid over that would be that way regardless,” Nash answered. “The whole point is keep the edge alive, and honestly, it gives the Knights something to do at peace time.” Nash shrugged. “Besides, it’s entertaining to a lot of people.”

“Hmph,” Camus smiled. “That, and the losers are often monitored pretty closely. Anyone who’s a little too resentful can be thrown out entirely. Potential backstabbers don’t get a second chance.”

Maki’s eyes widened. “WOW!”

“I’m guessing that those are the types who become bandits,” Nash said. “Or those who get thrown out over unapproved friendships or something. I’m still shocked at that one.”

Camus looked down at Clant. “I honestly don’t blame you.”

“You didn’t really tell me that much in your letters to me,” Maki said. “I didn’t know you felt that strongly for Uriah.”

“I know,” Camus closed his eyes as he thought of Uriah. He regretted sending Maki edited letters, but some things were hard to talk about, even the fight with the old bandits proved difficult. He understood why veterans were often tight-lipped about a lot of what they experienced. It didn’t help that security was an issue too. All it took was one interception of a letter that said too much and as the saying goes, ‘loose lips sink ships’. “I hope you can understand why.”

Maki nodded. “I do, and I’ll always be grateful that you wrote to me.” 

“Then you’re sure to be even more grateful when I go ahead and tell you both everything,” Camus replied, figuring that no ships will be sunk here. 

“Like our duel!” Miklotov suddenly exclaimed.

“Yea,” Nash agreed. “I’d love to learn more about Matilda and the drama between you three.”

Maki looked out the window, at the slowly fading day. “We have time.” She grabbed a chair and sat close to the bed. Nash did the same, but Camus and Miklotov both chose to sit on either side of Clant. 

“He really does have beautiful hands,” Maki commented, “To be honest, it’s what I thought when I first saw him.” She shook her head. “What a thing to think of during an attack.”

Nash merely shrugged, “He’s striking. I’ll give him that.”

Camus, however, didn’t pay attention to his hands, not this time. Instead, he focused on the hair, noting that it still felt soft under his fingertips. You barely broke a sweat. “He wasn’t just known as the ‘Flame Siren.’ I actually gave him another nickname right after our duel.” He looked at Miklotov, who chuckled quietly while nodding. “Yea, I did that.”

“Tell them about our duel,” Miklotov said. 

“Oh, yes, of course.”

*

The longest duel in Matilda’s history. Camus’ head swam when Knight Commander Gorudo announced it in the arena. Miklotov shook his head, eyes widened, face beaming as he looked to a very proud looking White Knight Captain Boris.

It wasn’t just the longest duel Gorudo announced, but the fact that Miklotov would be the youngest Knight in history at the age of seventeen with Camus being the second youngest at the age of eighteen. Camus wondered if either one of them would ever be surpassed and inwardly smiled when he decided that they wouldn’t be.

However, Miklotov would not be swearing his oath to his old friend. Rather, he would swearing it to Blue Knight Captain Edmund, a regal looking man with curly gray hair. Camus continued to feel as though he was dreaming. He never once thought that Miklotov would be the one on one knee, yielding, but magic failed him and that gave Camus the edge he desperately needed to point his sword at his friend’s chest.

“I wish you could have sword this oath to Uriah,” Red Knight Captain Baudin said the moment Camus completed his vow of fealty. “He would have been proud,” he grinned, “And I would have owed him money.”

Camus sighed, “Yes, sir, you would have.” He felt his chest tighten at the mention of Uriah. “I miss him...”

Baudin looked down, “So do I, but don’t let this ruin your day. Both you and your friend achieved something truly great. Uriah would never have wanted that.”

“You’re right.”

When Camus completed his oath to Gorudo, he stood, turned to his left, away from Miklotov, and saw a man leaning against an arena bridge rail, seeming to watch Camus intently. A White Knight. The wind blew past Camus and right into the White Knight’s unbound fiery red hair. 

“A halo of flame,” Camus found himself muttering. 

“What?” Miklotov asked and then saw the man as well. “Wait...isn’t that…?”

“The Flame Siren? Clant?” Camus asked Gorudo, the large leader of all the Matilda Knights. Immediately, Camus stammered. “I mean, if you don’t mind my asking, sir.” He waited for a reprimand that never came. Instead, he heard a bunch of snickering, including from Gorudo himself. Miklotov gaped and Camus still wondered.

“Oh him?” Gorudo followed his gaze. “That’s Clant alright. It’s speculated that he’ll soon be the Captain. He’s as driven as the fastest horse.”

“Yes, but so are we,” Miklotov replied.

“Yes, you both are. Should make for an interesting crop of Knights.” Gorudo nodded.

“Oh him,” Baudin said as he clapped Camus’s shoulder. “Forget it, boy. You’ll be shitting potch before you have a chance with him. I told you, Clant hates every one.” Camus waited for a possible rebuke, but instead Gorudo laughed.

To Camus, it sounded like the world was laughing, but he barely noticed as he kept looking at Clant, at that hair that burned brighter than his own. He wanted to get a closer look because he couldn’t quite see his face, but he could have sworn that Clant smirked before walking away. 

“Don’t worry about him,” Miklotov said. “We are knights now and besides, the sword naming ceremony is soon.” 

“Yes, of course,” Camus trailed off, letting the wind embrace him. His gaze remained on that arena bridge. Though he was given the “Red Knight” status and Miklotov “Blue”, he still wondered about Clant and what and who else that White Knight could be watching.

When Miklotov named his sword “Dunceney” people applauded as normal. Blue Captain Edmund clearly approved as his eyes brightened and the same was said for all those who enjoyed reading folklore and many other fantasies. When Camus named his sword Uriah, the arena exploded in cheers. It took every ounce to willpower to keep his tears behind his eyes and he knew damned well that Baudin was doing the same. 

“Oh, Camus,” Miklotov sighed, his tone sympathetic and if he showed any more compassion, Camus would have collapsed in sobs, so he felt relief when Miklotov did not do so. 

Both White and Blue Captains looked on with the same sympathy Miklotov voiced. Gorudo simply nodded.

“You were his squire, after all,” he said. 

When Camus turned twenty one, he fought his way to Second Lieutenant. Each time, he could have sworn that a certain White Knight was watching him. Soon after that, he found himself at the balcony of the arena standing next to Baudin.

“It was only a matter of time,” Baudin said, “frankly, I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner.”

Camus blinked, having just witnessed Clant soundly defeat Boris, the now former White Knight Captain. Miklotov closed his eyes.

“Poor Boris,” he whispered, “to lose like that.”

“If it’s any consolation, it was a tough fight,” Camus replied. “Like ours!” Miklotov glared. “Okay, only not as long, but still, Boris didn’t go down easily.”

“Let this be a lesson!” Clant shouted loud enough for the world to hear. Boris remained on his knees, but Camus could swear that the big man was smiling. Too bad he couldn’t see Clant’s face. A white mask will do that, but the red hair remained, except in tight braids wrapped around the crown of his head, which reminded Camus of yet another halo. “There’s always someone younger and hungrier behind ya!” Gods, I love that voice.

“One day you too will face such a person, Clant!” Boris shouted back. He laughed as Clant helped him up. “And the last I looked, you were in front of me! With fire!”

“So, what’s his sword called anyway? ‘Fuck you’?” Someone in the crowd asked.

Both Camus and Baudin chuckled. 

“More like his magic is called that,” Baudin answered. 

“Does his sword have a name, Captain Baudin?” Miklotov asked.

“Yea, ‘fuck you’!” Camus grinned. Miklotov rolled his eyes.

“From what I know of Clant, I doubt he has a name for it at all,” Baudin answered, but then mirrored Camus’ grin. “His magic, on the other hand...”

“But, Boris had magic too...” Miklotov looked down.

Baudin shrugged. “Always someone younger and hungrier and fire, especially rage, is always hungry.”

“And it eats the earth,” Camus added. He placed a hand on Miklotov’s shoulder. “I’m sorry about your friend.”

“Eh, he’s still alive,” Miklotov replied as he shrugged away from Camus. “I just wonder what it’s like to go from Captain and Vice-Commander to demotion to first Lieutenant.”

“I guess you just make do and try again next year,” Camus answered with a shrug.

“I don’t think Boris will though,” Baudin answered. “He’s getting old.” He looked down. “Like I am.”

“Please, sir, don’t retire just yet. I want to earn being Captain.” Camus meant every word of that. 

“Heh. I’ll make sure you will. If you manage it quickly enough, you’ll be the youngest Captain in the history of Matilda.”

“Younger than Clant?” Miklotov asked, wide-eyed.

“Clant’s not actually the youngest Captain. That one went to a 27 year old decades ago. He’s among the youngest though and I’m almost positive that he climbed the fastest.”

“Why didn’t he challenge sooner?” Camus suddenly asked. “Honestly, I think I would have.”

Miklotov scoffed. “Come on, Camus! You saw how Boris is! He is like heavy cavalry without the horse!”

“With strong Earth magic,” Baudin nodded. “You might want to listen to your friend here. Clant timed it perfectly.” 

Camus looked back down at the arena. Clant knelt before Gorudo to accept his promotion. “So he’s next in line for Knight Commander if Gorudo dies or retires.”

“Whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing depends on who you ask,” Baudin replied. He narrowed his dark eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re still interested in him.”

“Captain...I...” Camus found himself stammering. “Well...maybe he’s interested in me.”

The entire audience laughed or at least Camus felt that way. Baudin shook his head. “This is the third time I’ve told you this: he hates every one.”

“Sir, with all due respect, I don’t believe that.” Miklotov finally cut in.

“Neither do I, Captain.” Camus kept his eyes on Clant, who now walked out of the arena. The red haired man looked up and Camus wondered if he was looking at him. 

Baudin shrugged. “Whatever the case, you don’t stand a chance. You’re Red, he’s White. You’re still a second lieutenant and he’s Captain and Vice-Commander. You are you and Clant is the fire of hell.” 

“You don’t like him very much do you, sir?” Camus ventured.

“Actually, I just prefer to keep him at arm’s length. So do a lot of people.” Baudin sighed. “Fine, I’ll admit it. I’m not being fair. It’s not all his fault. Maybe it’s because we’re too different, maybe I’m just jealous of his ability, maybe people like him drive me nuts and why the hell am I telling you this? You’re dismissed!”

“Yes, sir!” Both Camus and Miklotov saluted.

Baudin leaned over towards Miklotov. “That’s funny. I didn’t know you were a Red Knight.”

“Oh, but still...” Miklotov looked around for the Blue Knight Captain. “I apologize.” He scurried off to his own unit. 

“I really wonder why Miklotov didn’t end up a White Knight...” Camus stared after him, remember his friend’s strength.

“Lack of magic will do that to you. If it’s any consolation, he’s stronger everywhere else. Including where it matters most.” 

Camus smiled. “And me?”

Baudin raised his eyebrows. “Aww...what’s the matter? Don’t like your Captain?”

“Oh...it’s not that,” Camus helplessly laughed. “I just wonder...”

“You should know by now that the White Knights are the best of the best. They have balance in pretty much everything and very few Reds and Blues make it into those ranks. The vast majority stay right where they’re at. If you were smart, you’ll stay among the Reds. You’d have a much better chance of reaching your goals anyway.”

“I still want to earn it though,” Camus replied. “I like to fight for what I want.” 

Baudin smiled. “You plan on challenging Clant? Maybe win him with your ‘sword’? Then he’ll be yours?” He grunted. “You might very well be shitting potch. Good! We could use the money.”

Camus helplessly laughed and so did the surrounding knights. “I don’t know, honestly. After all this time, I still know so little about him. It’s like pulling teeth to even see him! I’ve never even seen his face!” He looked back to the now empty arena and felt a bit of a dawning within his mind. “There’s always someone younger and hungrier...”

“Don’t eat me! I still have a few good years left.” Then, Baudin frowned. “Wait. Isn’t Miklotov younger than you? You might be doomed just yet.”

Camus blinked. “Oh! Hungrier too. Good thing he’s not fire, right?”

The surrounding knights and other audience members within ear shot laughed. Miklotov waved at him and with one final salute Camus headed over to his friend.

*

“Wait! Does anyone challenge the Knight Commander?” Nash suddenly asked.

Camus shook his head. “The Knight Commander is elected by the Captains and the First Lieutenants. No one gets to challenge the Knight Commander. That rank sticks for life. It’s usually a White Captain who is selected, but he represents ALL of the Matilda colors and then some.”

“Let’s say if you could,” Nash leaned forward, “would Clant have done it?”

Miklotov laughed. “I would have.”

“As would I,” Camus answered trying to hold back his own laughter, but failing. “Considering what happened you better believe I would. So, what do you two think? From what you now know of Clant. Take a guess.” Maki and Nash looked at each other before looking back at the knights. 

“I’m sure,” Maki replied, looking down a little. “Isn’t this kind of thing still a bit stressful though? I can’t imagine wondering who would challenge me and when.” She shrugged. “Then again, I’m not a Knight of Matilda or part of any clan that does things like that.”

“At the least the Knight Commander is safe for awhile,” Nash pointed out.

“Heh, safe...hmph,” Camus half-smiled. “I don’t think it did Gorudo much good. I’ll get to that.”

“What about Boris?” Maki asked. “I mean, ‘younger and hungrier’?” She put a hand on her forehead. “It’s true though. I actually heard something like that from dancers. Still, I can’t help but feel for Boris.” 

Miklotov nodded, his eyes downcast, “I certainly did.”

“I did too, but if it makes you feel better, it’s not really all that stressful,” Camus added. “Only the first of the first lieutenants can challenge a captain and even then, you get one chance a year at that level, nowhere near like the lower ranks. It’s high risk. You saw how Clant was in this village. You think anyone challenged him?” 

Both Maki and Nash shook their heads, but Maki asked, “Could YOU have challenged Clant?”

Camus shook his head. “No. As mentioned, once you’re given a color, you generally stayed there.”

“‘Win him with your sword’.” Nash chuckled.

“Yea,” Camus smiled. “That’s not what Baudin meant.”

“I know, I know. So, Boris never tried again? I just want to be sure.”

Camus and Miklotov looked at each other and then at Nash. They both shook their heads.

*

“I knew he’d do it, dammit,” Boris sat with Camus and Miklotov in a crowded tavern colored in shades of brown. No one seemed to care that a White Knight officer sat with two lower ranked knights. Then again, those who knew Boris and Miklotov would know that they were friends for years, despite the age difference. Boris gulped down his shot of vodka. “Good fight though. He knew I wouldn’t make it easy for him.”

“You wouldn’t do that for anyone!” Miklotov exclaimed.

“Very true,” Boris nodded, his black beard close to being crushed on his large chest. “Don’t worry, Misha, I’m not bitter.”

“Still though, being that close to ruling all of Matilda...” Camus found himself trailing off. Both Boris and Miklotov frowned at him. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that anything should happen to him, but I just think...” He shook his head. “I don’t know what to think. I don’t think I would be very happy.”

“It’s a shock for sure, I can tell you that,” Boris answered. “I have no hard feelings for Clant, if you were wondering. No officer among the White Knights does.”

“Is this what the White Knights wanted?” Camus asked.

Boris laughed loud enough to turn a few nearby heads, one of them being Baudin. He didn’t even bother to answer. Instead, he finished his vodka. Miklotov looked at Camus.

“When you started challenging the Second Lieutenants, did you care what the Red Knights wanted?” He asked, his piercing dark eyes narrowing. “Do you think I cared when I did the same?”

Camus shook his head. “No.”

“So, why ask such a question?” Miklotov inquired before sipping a drink known as “Spiked Iced Tea.” All Camus knew was that it contained four kinds of alcohol and he had no interest in trying any of them out. He sipped from his simple strawberry wine, wondering how on earth his friend would even think of consuming such hard liquor. 

“Sometimes I mull over it, that’s all,” he finally replied.

Miklotov shrugged. “Don’t.”

Boris nodded. “That’s my Misha.” He laughed. “I feel better now.”

“Ale downstairs!” Shouted a very familiar voice, and the sounds of booted footsteps echoed against the tavern floor down those very stairs he spoke of.

Flame Siren. Halo of Flame. Clant. Camus wanted to turn and look, but for some reason couldn’t. Too late. Other White Knights stampeded down after Clant with their shouts of joy overriding everything else. “Did they do this for you, Boris? Did you celebrate this way?”

“Heh,” Boris smirked, “I did. We all did, but I wouldn’t have cared if no one else celebrated.” He held up his shot glass. “Then again, I’d drink to anything.” He laughed before swallowing what was left of his drink, standing up, and following the other White Knights downstairs.

“Younger and hungrier,” Baudin finally chimed in from the neighboring table. “I was younger than Uriah and much hungrier...”

“But, you never beat him,” Camus replied. “I remember the last time you tried.” He sighed, feeling his heart sink. 

“So do I,” Baudin swallowed his one of his three drinks as if he was dying of thirst. To Camus, it looked like ale. 

Miklotov tilted his head. “Camus, if Uriah was still alive, would you challenge him?”   
It seemed like half the Red Knights and some of the Blues stared at Camus. Baudin raised his eyebrows, but he had that look. The one that said, “I know the answer.” Camus knew that he was right.

“I would.” 

“Why am I not surprised you’d say that?” Miklotov grinned.

“Because we know each other,” Camus replied. “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t do the same if you were a Red Knight.”

“Well then, it’s a good thing I am a Blue, yes?” Miklotov held up his glass before taking a large swallow. 

“Honestly, I am still surprised you drink things like that,” Camus said. 

“I’m still surprised you don’t,” came the retort.

“I mean, you just don’t look like the sort who would do that.”

Miklotov scoffed. “What are they supposed to look like?”

“Me!” Baudin exclaimed. Laughter surrounded him as he picked up another drink, what people in Rockaxe called “the Bomb”. To Camus, it looked like a small red glass surrounded by a larger glass filled with green liquid. “Or Clant!” More laughter erupted. Baudin leaned forward. “You want to get Clant to hate you?” He pointed at the third drink in a small shot glass. “Send him one of these!”

“No!” Came a chorus of Red Knights. First of the First Raymond, who sat nearby, held out his hands while shaking his head. Baudin simply laughed. 

“Maybe that’s why he hates everyone,” Camus replied, noting that a large number of Matilda folk drank scotch whiskey, especially among the knights. More laughter erupted, even Miklotov held his hand over his mouth, trying to hold back, but couldn’t. Camus sipped his wine and then thought of downstairs. “You think they can hear us?”

“Who gives a fuck?” Baudin replied. Raymond and a few other Red Knights nodded in agreement.

“I doubt they would do anything if they did,” Miklotov added. “Why would they care what we think? Clant is White Knight Captain and Vice-Commander of Matilda now. The only opinion that should matter is Gorudo’s.”

“He can’t be too happy with this,” Raymond pointed out after downing a lager. “He’s pretty tight with Boris and Clant’s a kid to someone like Gorudo.”

Baudin shrugged. “I’m not worried. It’s not like Boris has disappeared. He’s still high up in rank.” He tittered. “But, he gets to answer to me and Captain Edmund now.”

“And both of you will be answering to ‘The Flame Siren’, sirs,” Camus replied.

“Yup. Us and most of Matilda,” Raymond said with a shrug. “It’ll stay that way for years to come, I’m sure.”

Miklotov narrowed his eyes. “Are you certain no one else will challenge him?” He sighed. “We make it sound like it’s the end of the world. I barely know him myself,” he looked up at Camus, “and you are not much different. You are fascinated by him, but how long has it been since you have gotten close to him?”

Camus sipped at his wine. “It’s been awhile, for sure. I just can’t seem to bring myself to really meet him.” 

Baudin downed the scotch in a single gulp. “I don’t blame you for that, honestly. I can deal with him pretty easily as a fellow Captain, but you? Put it this way, you’re right to be careful and not just because he ‘hates everyone’.” He looked at Miklotov. “Anyway, the only people who could try to challenge him won’t likely dare. Boris is done. He’ll be retiring as First of the First. The Second of First, Bailey, is close to Clant and as far as I know is content where he is.” Baudin shook his head. “I can’t see any of the Second Lieutenants getting past either one of them.”

“So it’s locked,” Camus stated, taking another sip of strawberry sweetness. He grinned. “Not like us Reds and Blues.” Miklotov almost spit out his drink, Baudin laughed and Raymond simply shook his head with a smile. “With all due respect, of course, sirs.”

“Oh sure,” Raymond replied while waving at a waitress for another lager. “Something tells me I won’t be First of the First for long. I should alert the Second.”

“You are fortunate that you don’t have to worry about me, Camus,” Miklotov swallowed what was left of his “Spiked Tea”. “I’m not far behind, you know.”

“Oh, I know,” Camus agreed, well aware that if they ended up with the same color, they’d be fighting constantly for rank. Not that they didn’t spar anyway, but still, Camus couldn’t help but feel relieved that Miklotov would never be directly behind or in front of him. Then, he thought of the White Knights and quickly downed his wine.


	3. Stormy eyes all dressed in black and white

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, Camus meets Clant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I recommend this song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pdy6dONsbQ0 It's proven to be quite inspiring. Anyway, I think the best bet for this story is to simply post shorter chapters. Maybe that'll help with my poor track record of longer fics. Anyway, if I haven't said it already, I HATE writing out accents. I try to add a little to make it clear how they're supposed to talk, but I generally avoid it. I just wanted to let you know. And yea, in my headcanon, Clant is gorgeous because I am shallow like that. Also, spot the references. :)

It took two years for Camus to finally decide to see “The Flame Siren”. He did was what predicted-became First of the First, leading to the retirement of one and Raymond ending up Second of First. Camus figured it would be enough to get past the White Knight guards and finally up the tower.

 

It wasn’t.

 

“You can’t enter,” the guard on the right said. Neither guard looked much older than Camus. “This is White Knight territory.”

 

“I’m here to see your captain,” Camus replied, honestly thinking that would be enough. After all, ALL of Matilda knew of his win against Raymond. He remembered seeing Clant there, but he wore a red mask and was cloaked as he stood at Gorudo's right.

 

But, the guards did not budge or give any indication that it was okay to pass.

 

“You’re still a Red Knight,” the guard on the left said. “Why would our Captain be bothered with you?”

 

Camus inwardly sighed. _I shouldn’t have been surprised._ Outwardly, he smiled. “Then kindly give me your names and I’ll be more than happy to tell Captain Clant about your ‘wonderful’ service, especially towards one who _does_ outrank you just in case you didn’t notice.” With his hands on his hips, he added, “Please tell me you didn’t forget your vows. ALL of the vows and not just what suits you.”

 

Both White Knights looked at each other. “Forgive us, First of the First,” Left said, “it’s just that we rarely deal with anyone other than White Knights around here.”

 

“And Clant is well...” Right shrugged. “Clant.” At that the guards moved away from the door and Camus entered the tower.

 

The left side of the hallway led to an open room that looked like a common area while the right side led to stairs that Camus approached and at first, he practically ran up the stairs until he felt his stomach drop as he found himself wondering what would happen. What did Clant actually look like? Shallow question, he knew, but still wondered as he wondered about Clant’s actual personality. Camus’ steps slowed to a near halt when he realized that he was close to the top, to the battlements Clant no doubt stood among, but no voice carried anywhere. Camus wondered if Clant was even there. He leaned against the wall, feeling the unyielding coolness against his fingertips, realizing that he was about ten steps away from knowing the answer to questions that lingered for nine years.

 

 _I’m so close...and yet._ Then he suddenly thought of Uriah, knowing full well that this wouldn’t even be an issue if the Legendary Knight was still alive. He knew that Uriah would have stayed away, just like Baudin and pretty much anyone who wasn’t a White Knight did. _But, I am different. I have to be...please._ He took a deep breath, praying that he wouldn’t ultimately falter. Not when he was so close.

 

“Come on up, Camus!” Came that voice. “You might as well.”

 

Camus expelled his breath, his heart drummed hard against his chest, and he finally climbed those last steps. Clant stood at the far end of the battlements, wearing the black and white uniform of the White Knights. The clear blue sky framed him, but there was no flame halo, at least none that Camus could see as Clant’s hair was parted in the back and tied into two front ponytails, or at least Camus thought. He honestly considered it weird that he even wondered, but brushed it aside as he slowly approached, his boots drumming against the stone.

 

“About damned time,” Clant said. “Not that I’m one to talk.”

 

Camus quietly smiled at that voice, but he remained silent.

 

“You’re from Camaro,” Clant continued, “a younger son, and you came here because you refused to remain someone’s squire.” He shook his head. “Such a stupid tradition, but then again, most traditions are. Only, you wouldn’t be here if that tradition didn’t exist.”

 

Camus nodded. “True, and I would have never known who you were. I would have never met...” _Uriah._ He grit his teeth as his chest hurt. _Even now…_

 

“Uriah...eh?” Clant nodded, his back still turned. “And others, of course. He’d be proud of you, no doubt. You’ll be a Captain soon.”

 

Camus smiled, remembering what he said to Clant at such statements. “That wasn’t a question.”

 

“I know it wasn’t,” came the quick reply. “You rose fast. Ambitious. I like that.”

 

“Good.”

 

Finally, Clant slowly turned, and Camus stifled a gasp. He wore no mask, his red hair was indeed tied into front ponytails, a style usually worn by women, but Camus didn’t care. He did, however, care about the eyes, a piercing blue, the color of a distant storm. _Dressed in black and white. Gorgeous._ This time Camus did audibly gasp, especially when Clant slowly approached.

 

He wasn’t an ethereal beauty reserved for the most beautiful feminine men nor did he have the classic handsome features, like Uriah or Miklotov. Clant was somewhere in the middle. Camus knew the term for it as he was considered the same, but he was too busy just staring, just breathing slowly.

 

Clant halted a few steps away, his arms folded across his chest. “Are you frightened of me?”

 

Camus shook his head a little too quickly. “No. Just nervous.”

 

Clant smiled. “Good. I’m not interested in people who are frightened of me.”

 

“I didn’t think you would be,” Camus replied, wishing his nerves would just vanish. He never felt this way in duels or anytime since becoming a Knight. “I know you don’t fear me, so why did I have to be the one who climbed?”

 

Clant chuckled as he looked away. “I’ve never pursued anyone. Not really. Not like you. My friends would tell me to speak with you and I managed it once, remember? But, you ran away from me, and I couldn’t follow.”

 

“Captain Baudin says you hate everyone. Uriah said it too. Is it true? Because Miklotov didn’t believe it and I don’t either.”

 

“Hmm...” Clant looked directly into Camus’ eyes. “People assume that. They’ll believe as they wish. Even now, especially now, Red and Blue officers act like I am the sun itself.” He shrugged. “But, to say something like that about me.” He shook his head, his red ponytails swaying with each movement. “It doesn’t matter now, does it? You’re here of your own accord, you’re First of the First among the Reds and yet here you are. Finally...after all these years.”

 

Camus said nothing, instead looking down at Clant’s hands, and they were as beautiful as he remembered. _Guitar player’s hands._ The sort of hands that belonged to an artist rather than a knight. Clant noticed because he briefly looked down before slowly unfolding his arms and holding out his hands. Camus took them, slightly surprised that they were softer than he thought, but the moment the grip tightened was the moment Camus realized that soft did not mean weak.

 

“You are lovely.” Camus finally blurted out.

 

Clant raised his eyebrows. “Lovely?” He chuckled. “Is that what you say to a man?”

 

“It was all I could think of, to be honest, but yea, I do say that to a man, but you’re the only one.”

 

“Hmmm...” Clant smiled. “So, what is Miklotov to you?”

 

“A friend.”

 

Clant nodded. “Good, because I was hoping we’d be lovers.”

 

Camus couldn’t find the words; he could only gasp every time he tried to think of something to say. He held on to Clant’s hands and could only think of yes. So, he nodded, gritting his teeth at the fact that an awkward nod was all he could manage. _Wow, you aim high._ He never forgot what Miklotov told him. _Maybe I do, but would it matter? I feel what I feel,_ _but still...White Knight Captain, Vice Commander, the best of the best. If this works out, then I will be the luckiest man alive with plenty of merit to back it up._ A squeeze of Clant’s hands jolted him out of his thoughts.

 

“Yes. I would like that.” He finally answered.

 

Clant breathed a sign of relief as he smiled a wide smile. “You’re the first person I ever thought of in such a way.”

 

“Really?” Camus blinked.

 

Clant shrugged. “I hate everyone, remember?”

 

“Oh yes, of course,” Camus nodded. “You would actually be my first too if Uriah….” Words failed him again.

 

“Indeed.” Clant slipped out of Camus’ grasp. “I stole your kill.” He narrowed his eyes and looked to his left, over some lower rooftops in Rockaxe. “When I found out what happened, I wanted action immediately, and I wasn’t the only one.” He looked back at Camus. “White Knights also looked up to Uriah and honestly, we seldom looked up to anyone who wasn’t a White Knight, but him? Absolutely. Uriah likely never realized it, but many of us did indeed revere him and wanted those who killed him to suffer.”

 

“You burned them alive,” Camus whispered.

 

“I did indeed,” Clant nodded, “and I would do it again.”

 

“Some were chopped to pieces...”

 

“Yea, I know!” Clant snapped before taking a deep breath and slowly expelling it. “I was there. I told you I would do it again.” He folded his arms across his chest. “The only thing I regret was not persuading the Reds to come with us.” He smirked. “You would have seen for yourself what I could do to enemies.”

 

“I’ve seen what you can do to friends,” Camus answered as he thought of the duel against Boris.

 

Clant nodded slowly. “Ah, yes.” His stormy eyes brightened. “It is our way and no one among the knights would have it any other way.”

 

“I’d like to fight you someday.”

 

“You would?” Clant raised his eyebrows before laughing. “If you have a death wish, you can always jump from this tower.”

 

“I just want to know what it’s like to fight you.”

 

The smile remained on Clant’s gorgeous face. “My, you are bold challenging me. I like that too.”

 

“If I win, what happens?”

 

The smile became a smirk. “If”.

 

Camus reflected that smirk. “How about when?”

 

“That’s not going to happen,” came the curt reply. “I’ll humor you though. If this is approved as a formal duel and you manage to win, you’ll be among the very few to change color rank and you would be the only one of your sort to become a White Knight Captain.” He gasped a smile. “And I’d fuck you until the end of time.”

 

Camus felt himself glow at the response. “And if I lose, nothing changes.”

 

“When you lose, things will indeed stay as they are, but you will have earned a great deal of respect from a lot of people here, and even more so from me. So, I guess that’ll be our first date?” Clant laughed.

 

“This will take time though, right?”

 

“It could depending on what is decided.” Clant held out his beautiful hands and Camus took them. “Whatever happens, we’re going to have a great time, you and I.”

 

“Do you think others will have a problem with us being together? I mean with our ranks and I know how some people are about certain relations.”

 

“I don’t doubt it, but I’ll make it clear right now,” Clant’s eyes narrowed, his grip tightening around Camus’ hands, “if anyone gets any ideas about acting against us,” his voice lowered into a soft growl, “I’ll burn them alive.”

 

“I’d be stupid to expect anything less.”

 

“Indeed.”

 

* * *

 

Clado, mayor of Milit, suddenly burst into the room. “Excuse me for interrupting, but I’d like to know what to do with the bodies we moved to the crater. We found the bandits’ wagons and possessions too. Many of their horses are still alive. We have them all.”

 

Camus only needed to look at Miklotov and Maki to know exactly what to do. He left the room, Nash trailing behind him. At the crater, Camus noticed dark-haired Bailey at the top of pile along with the former First of Second, “Blondie” and Camus realized with a sigh, the guards “Right” and “Left.”

 

“They were his friends, weren’t they?” Nash asked.

 

“Some of them were, yes,” Camus answered, feeling his heart sink. _They all had a lot going for them, and Clant most of all. Sad._ “I knew them.” He pointed at “Right” and “Left”. “Those were the Tower guards. Every one in this pile was either the most loyal or actual friends. Clant will be devastated.”

 

“Maybe he should have thought of that,” Nash said, scanning the crater and the allies surrounding it.

 

Camus sighed. “That’s just it...” He trailed off when Clado approached.

 

“So, what do you think we should do? We can’t just leave them here.”

 

“I know,” Camus looked towards the wagons, knowing damned well that the black covered wagon decorated with flames belonged to Clant. “Anything that belongs to Clant belongs to me. Everything else, the village can have. As for the bandits, they were all White Knights of Matilda and they belong together in death. I will burn them in the crater and let the ashes scatter to the winds.”

 

As the sun set, the flames from Camus’ Rage Rune rose. Every one did their best to ignore the scent of burning flesh, but Camus knew that it was better than bones under the village and far better than rot and bodily wastes: things that bards and storytellers didn’t talk about. He made sure that Clant’s wagon ended up next to the side porch of Maki’s house.

 

“Oh he would do that!” Miklotov exclaimed from the door.

 

“Looks like he had good taste,” Maki said, her eyes tracing the salamander flames all over the wagon.

 

“Yes, he would,” Camus agreed, “and knowing how he is, I bet he was driving it too.”

 

Nash briefly looked in the back. “He took all this?”

 

Camus looked inside and saw a lot of items that he remembered back in Matilda and knew full well that he would be talking about them later. “Looks like it and a lot of these actually WERE his things and not taken from villages.”

 

“Speaks volumes, don’t you think?” Nash asked as he walked back to the house.

 

“I knew him,” Camus replied and said nothing more until they were all back in the bedroom.

 

“So much waste. How sad.” Nash said as he sat down.

 

Camus held Clant’s hand. “Yup. There’s been enough waste.”

 

“All White Knights?” Maki sighed. “That would explain why they were so much more skilled than the bandits I know of. Why couldn’t they have been mercenaries? They’d be swimming in wealth if they did that. Or maybe join another knighthood? I’m sure they would have been welcomed.”

 

“And why couldn’t ‘the Flame Siren’ become a bard?” Camus finished. “I’ve been thinking the same thing. He will answer all of those questions, believe me.”

 

“Do you think he would bother?” Nash asked.

 

“He has to,” Miklotov answered. “He is in no position to do anything else.”

 

“Especially given how close to death he was,” Camus said, squeezing Clant’s hand. He smiled. “And we have his items. Plenty of leverage right there.”

 

“Did that duel ever happen?” Maki asked. “I mean, I remember you saying that you couldn’t have challenged him?”

 

“Eh,” Camus looked away, trying to ignore Miklotov’s snickering, but failing. He blushed crimson. “Well, it wasn’t a formal duel...”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Cinnamon Roll Hair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First er, "fight" and then first date. Awww...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: One of the reasons this one took awhile was because I wasn't certain of what to do in the end. This has happened before and people seemed to like it that way, so hopefully it work out this time too. I was also wondering about details and went ahead and addressed it. Hope that worked out too. It should be obvious what "Jake" is based on. I just didn't want to use the real name. I do "homages" a lot. :p

Camus couldn't begin to describe what he was doing with Clant. He couldn't call it a duel because he couldn't gain a single inch of ground. He spent what felt like forever trying to avoid the blinding speed, the surprise strength, and the fire. Dear gods, the fire. Clant used a shortsword, but he may as well have used an axe given the force of the blows against Camus' sword, Uriah.

_ Uriah _ . Camus wondered what his beloved Legendary Knight must be thinking now. Every attempt at aggression led to greater aggression from Clant. Defense? Barely. Clant wore no mask this time; he didn't even have his fiery hair up. He grinned like a mad man, his eyes blazed like his magic. Camus fell to his knees, not wanting to imagine how long this, whatever it was, actually lasted.

"HAH!" Clant cried out, his wild hair fanning out before settling past his shoulders onto his chest. "And THAT is why I am a White Knight and you are not!" He pointed at Miklotov, who stood near the entrance of the sparring hall. "Second of First, will you spar with me?" When Miklotov shook his head, he smiled down at Camus. “See? He is wise. You should follow his example.” 

"Maybe he isn't as curious," Camus replied, managing a smile. Clant held out his hand, that beautiful hand, and Camus took it. He swayed a little once he got to his feet, but Clant steadied him. "Thanks."

"Camus! Are you okay?" Miklotov called as he approached.

Camus nodded. "Yes. I'll be okay." He felt a little cold when Clant pulled away.

"Actually, I would like to try," Miklotov said, looking at Clant with awe.

Camus answered. "No. Don't. You wouldn't stand a chance."

Clant shook his head. "You went from wise to foolish in less than ten seconds, Miklotov. You should follow Camus' example instead."

"Eh, I just want to be stronger," Miklotov shrugged.

"Course you do. We all do." Clant looked at Camus. "Can you imagine if this was in public? In front of who knows how many people? Gorudo was right to forbid it outright. Did you really think you'd be among the very few? He knew you wouldn't." Clant smiled. "I certainly did."

Camus sighed. "Maybe Baudin was right. Being Red is for the best."

"It is. You certainly know it now, that's for sure." Clant took a step towards Miklotov. "And that goes for you too. You will be a Captain someday."

Miklotov smiled. "Yes, indeed, I will. It will be the three of us, yes?"

Camus nodded. "As it stands now."

"It will," Clant replied. "Both of you know it will. It's just a question of when." He beamed and looked positively stunning to Camus. "Anyway, we should be going on our date now, eh Camus?" 

"After I wash, of course." 

 

* * *

As Camus prepared in his room, he heard shouts of "White Knight Captain" and he froze in front of the mirror. He blinked, swearing that they agreed to meet at a certain tavern. The Red Knights in the Officer’s Building had to be at attention and saluting like their lives depended on it. Captain Baudin had to know. It wasn't unprecedented for a White Knight Captain to show up in the other Color's quarters, but for a date? Camus never heard of that happening.

"As you were!" He heard Clant say. "And you're not fooling anyone! I know you're laughing at me!"

Camus blinked multiple times and pressed his forehead against the mirror when he heard Baudin howl with laughter.  _ Laughing at Clant? Oh no no no _ . 

He didn't have to wait long for an answer as he heard the knock. When he answered, he expected Clant to be wearing a dress given the laughter, but it turned out that the clothing consisted of a white buttoned black belted tunic, black leggings and black boots. But, the hair. It looked like red cinnamon rolls bound with white ribbons on the sides of his head. Unable to help himself, Camus tried to cover up his own laughing with coughs, but Clant sighed and closed the door behind him.

"You're not fooling anyone either, First of the First." 

"Oh, sorry," Camus replied. "I just never expected that." He finished buttoning up his red shirt. 

"Check Camus' latrine for potch!" Both men heard Baudin shout.

Clant raised his eyebrows. 

"After my duel with Miklotov, Baudin told me that I would be shitting potch before I'd get anywhere near you."

"Heh," Clant smiled. "Would be nice if you did. Money is always good. Too bad my hair is far more realistic."

"So, why did you do that? It doesn't look like you made the choice on your own." 

"I didn't," Clant replied, walking further into the room. "It happened at that same duel." He put a pale hand on his forehead. "This will sound terrible, but I told Bailey that maybe I could have a shot at you since Uriah died." Camus gasped which prompted Clant to hold out his hands. "I know, I know. Bailey was taken aback too. He told me that the day I have you would be the day I wear my hair in cinnamon rolls."

"And what did you say?"

"Hrm. I said it's a woman's style and he told me that it never stopped me before, which is true. All of Matilda has seen that. I know you have, but I've never worn my hair in side buns. So, I told him that one day, you'll see me with that hair." He shrugged. "Now here we are." 

"Don't you outrank him now? I mean, you didn't have to..."

"I do indeed outrank all of Matilda, except for Gorudo, but Bailey is still my friend and I tend to keep my word. You know, being a Knight and all. Such things are important even after all this time."

"How do you get away with that?" Camus shook his head. "I mean with everything. Your hair, the singing at the tower, the masks you wear. No knight wears masks like yours. I've always wondered about you."

Clant folded his arms, his blue eyes narrowed. "It helps to have talent. I was also a squire to the right White Knight. His name was Patrick. He never got past First of Second nor was he ever quite Legendary, but he was still revered and Gorudo generally didn't care what I did. However, when HE was at the tower, you better believe I shut the fuck up."

"He doesn't like your singing?"

Clant shook his head. "It's not that, but rather he never goes to that tower unless it's for very important reasons. He has, however, told me to shut up before and, of course, I do as I am told."

Camus understood that very well. "And the masks?"

"Ah," Clant grinned. "Masks reveal as much as they conceal. I have all kinds. You'll see them soon enough." He held out a hand. "So, are you ready?"

Camus took his hand, feeling that warm strength again. "Yes."

The tavern they went to shrieked "THIS IS WHITE KNIGHT TERRITORY". Nearly every patron there was either still in uniform or among White Knights. Every picture had some depiction of a White Knight and Camus began to wonder if the other Colors existed at all for the people in this tavern. Even the servers wore white and it looked like a holy site. Camus felt out of place, but no one would notice from the way he looked around with a smile he knew most people loved. Hardly anyone seemed to notice, but if Camus had to be honest, most of his notice was on Clant. They sat at one of the downstairs tables, Camus in a booth seat with Clant right across from him in a large, comfortable chair.

"I'll have the Firebomb," Camus told the server, noting that Clant raised his eyebrows.

"I'll have Cinnamon Ale," came Clant's order. When the server left with a nod, Clant leaned forward. "Better not kiss me with that mouth," he half-smiled, "I'll knock your teeth out. It's got whiskey in it." 

"Yea, I know. I honestly don't drink any ales or similar drinks."

Again, Clant raised his eyebrows. "What kind of man doesn't drink ale?"

Camus grinned. "The kind of man who either goes very hard or very soft. No middle ground." _Miklotov never seemed to notice though._ _Oh well._

Clant leaned back, smiling at the ceiling before directing that smile to Camus. "A good answer." He nodded. "I like that."

"I just believe that at least for today, Jake knows, Jake understands."

Clant scoffed. "Jake doesn't know a damned thing and he sure as hell doesn't understand. I despise Jake." He chuckled. "He owes me money and is a shitty person to boot."

"So, you really would hate someone who buys you something like that? I heard it from Baudin."

"Eh, well, then you must have heard about my parents. Whiskey was their main poison."

Now Camus raised his eyebrows. "Both parents? Wait! Your mother drank whiskey? I was taught to believe that was a man's drink." 

"Someone should have told my mother. Not that it would have stopped her." Clant shook his head. "Honestly, people think I hate any kind of whiskey because of them, but the truth is," he paused, "I can't stand the taste." 

"Oh."

"Oh," Clant echoed with a chuckle. "Some people will say that a man with my upbringing shouldn't be drinking at all. I tell them to go fuck themselves as I drink a nice ale."

"You don't get drunk, do you?" Camus suddenly asked. He didn't and neither did anyone around him, but he knew the horror stories of people who had too much to drink and he suspected that Clant had plenty of horror stories.

"No way," Clant replied with a sharp edge to his voice. "Never. I can't imagine doing that and I don't tolerate it. People who value their skins keep their drunkenness away from me. Matilda Knights certainly do.”

“As well they should!”

When the server arrived with their drinks, Camus asked for a Greenhill Cherry wine. Clant gaped.

“So, are you going to be like Baudin and have a table full of drinks?” He asked, trying to stifle laughter. “Going hard and soft, eh?” 

“I think Baudin is all hard,” Camus replied. “His idea of soft is ale.” He thought of the green liquor Baudin frequently drank. “He also had this drink that looked like dark grass--”

“Ah! Hunter’s Elixir.” Clant quickly nodded. “A damned good liquor. I don’t drink it often, but I enjoy it when I do.” 

“I haven’t tried it yet.”

“You should.”

“That’s what Miklotov would tell me.”

“Aye, I bet he would,” Clant agreed as he took a drink from his ale. “I know all about what he drinks. Boris is a great and terrible influence.”

When the cherry wine arrived, so did a large shot glass of a light brown liquid with white foam on the top that was placed in front of Clant, who promptly rolled his eyes.

“Bailey!?” He called out. “Where the hell are you?”

A short, dark haired man appeared out of nowhere to Clant’s left. Camus blinked, wondering how the hell he managed that. 

“Right here, sir!” Bailey replied with a smile on his cute face. He had dark eyes and wore his White Knight uniform. He spoke in a high tenor with no accent.

“How did you...” Camus started to ask, but Clant waved his hand.

“Don’t worry about it. He’s quite good at such things.” He turned to Bailey. “Why did you do that? You know I can’t stand whiskey.”

Camus frowned. “That’s whiskey?”

“Good old Matilda Cream,” Bailey answered, taking the glass. “It’s actually for me.”

“He does this all the damned time,” Clant said. “If you want to kill yourself, Bailey, then fall on your knives.”

“Nah. Not theatrical enough.” Bailey grinned as he took a long sip from his drink. “Besides, I’ve come to gloat. Nice hair, by the way.”

“I told you I would wear my hair this way when I have him,” Clant smiled at Camus. 

“Took you long enough!” Bailey said with a laugh.

Clant shrugged. “Better late than never. Where’s Blondie?”

“Blondie?” Camus asked.

“Bertran, White Knight First of Second,” Bailey replied. “He’s part of our ‘clique’. 

Clant rolled his eyes again. “ ‘Clique’. Gods...”

Camus sighed. “Honestly, I’ve been here since I was fourteen and one of the first things I noticed was that the White Knights seemed pretty much like that. You’re completely separate from the other two groups.”

Clant nodded. “We have to be, but that hasn’t stopped Miklotov or former squires of White Knights. Anyway, where’s Blondie?”

Bailey looked towards the stairs. Camus followed his gaze and saw a stout blond man head their way. Unlike Bailey, he wasn’t in uniform but still wore a white headband typical among the White Knights. Camus noticed that he walked with a swagger and that his smiled carried a certainty that would be difficult to shake. To Camus, every White Knight appeared that way.

“Right here,” Bailey finally replied as Blondie stood next to him and began to “cough”. 

“You’re shit at faking,” Clant told him. 

“I tried!” Blondie replied in a deep voice. Like Bailey, he also lacked an accent. He looked at Camus. “You have a certain something, that’s for sure.”

“That he does,” Clant replied as he drank more of his cinnamon ale.

“You outrank me too,” Blondie continued with a smirk. “There’s something sexy about that.”

Clant glared. “Don’t get any ideas!”

“Course not!” Blondie boomed. “My wife would never approve!” All of them laughed.

“That’s what I meant!” Clant exclaimed before beaming at Camus. His eyes glittered with the tavern lights.

“You’re married?” Camus asked.

Blondie nodded. “Yup. Been married for six years. She was my school sweetheart.”

“It’s not often I see a married Knight.” Camus said, sipping from his cherry wine. “Was it a blood oath?”

“That’s between knights and knights alone,” Clant answered, “and almost always between two men.”

“You couldn’t convince me to swear a Blood Oath with him!” Blondie pointed at Clant. 

“You couldn’t convince me to ask!” Clant shot back. Both men laughed.

Camus softly chuckled. “What about you, Bailey? Do you have anyone?”

Bailey shook his head. “No one but a few friends for me. Never been interested in anyone beyond that.”

“A strange man, that one.” Clant smirked. 

“I’m even more strange!” Blondie bellowed above the tavern. “I’m in a place like this and all I get is milk!”

Camus’ eyes widened. “You don’t drink?”

Blondie shook his head. “Nope. Can’t stand the taste of any of it, but I smoke seven thousand times a day!” He patted a shirt pocket. 

“Oh.” Camus looked briefly away, noticing Clant tittering before taking another sip.

“At any rate,” Bailey said, “Gorudo will be roaming the streets shortly, so I suggest you not let him see you with your hair like that.”

Clant sighed. “Wonderful. Thanks for letting me know.”

“What are friends for?” Bailey replied before he walked with Blondie to a table at the far wall of the room. 

“Gorudo wouldn’t be laughing, would he?” Camus asked.

“You know he wouldn’t,” Clant answered. “I can hear it now: CLANT! Take that shit out of your hair!”

“And, of course, you would.”

“Of course.”

Then Camus suddenly thought of his conversation with Uriah almost a decade ago; the day he first arrived in Rockaxe and when Clant was a newly avowed Knight and yet was Second Lieutenant. Camus recalled finding out later that it was FIRST of Second and next year, Clant became First of the First. He never saw those duels as he obviously had his own training to attend to and he never thought much of any of this until now. Gorudo forbade him from openly dueling Clant, but it seemed that Clant was never forbidden from basically cutting in line. It should have taken at least a few years to get the First Lieutenants. Camus knew he wasn’t one to talk about rising quickly in rank, but he couldn’t imagine doing what Clant had done.

“Something the matter?” Clant asked.

“Oh, I was just thinking of your rise as a White Knight Officer.”

“Why?” Clant frowned before smirking. “Are you suspicious?”

“No, I just mean, how did you jump in line? There are four Second Lieutenants. It should have taken a few years. At least in my case,” Camus sighed, “there was a bit of an upheaval. Was an officer stupid enough to challenge you? Maybe try to remind you of your ‘place’? Maybe not be so hungry?”

Clant nodded. “First of Second. His name was Nigel. He meant well but”, he shook his head, “it did him no favors. Played right into my hands. He was on the verge of retirement anyway, so I suspected that he simply wanted to go down fighting and who better than “The Flame Siren” to take him down? Then, next year happened soon afterward.” He looked over at Bailey. “He was First of the First at the time. I spoke to him the way you spoke to me, only neither one of us was interested in being anything other than friends. He had certainty,” Clant narrowed his eyes, “only it was a bit different. Needless to say, I became the youngest First of the First in Matilda’s history.”

“After that, you were careful with your timing.”

“Despite what others might say, I am not a fool and I’ll just leave it at that.” Clant finished his ale. 

“You think someone will surpass your record?”

“I doubt it, but at this point, I don’t care all that much.” 

Camus leaned back into his seat and finished off the rest of the Firebomb before moving on the Cherry Wine. “I asked both Boris and Miklotov this, but I want to hear it from you. Did the White Knights want you to be Captain?”

Clant’s eyes widened. “What?” He laughed. “I can take a few guesses how they both answered.” 

“I don’t recall Boris even bothering and Mi klotov asked me if I cared when I started challenging the Lieutenants.” 

“You didn’t.” Clant said simply.

“No.”

“What the hell makes you think I did? Really, Camus, are you bored? We can always find something else to do if this is the only way you can make conversation.”

“No, just curious is all. The only opinion that matters is Gorudo’s, right?”

Clant looked over at the stairs as if The Knight Commander himself would appear at any moment. He leaned toward Camus. “He does indeed prefer Boris. He’s always liked the glacier sorts over wildfire, but he has me instead as his right-hand man and it will stay that way until he either retires or dies.”

Camus sipped his wine. “Could he challenge you?”

Clant quietly gasped. “No. He’s Knight Commander. Once you become that, you’re done with dueling for rank. I mean, it’s not unprecedented, but when a Knight Commander has done such a thing, it goes a bit beyond rank and tends to be personal. I can’t imagine him acting against me or anyone in Matilda.” He sighed. “I could hold my own against him, but not for long. What I would not give to have that Mother Earth Rune. He’s the only one who has it.”

Camus took the opportunity to change the subject. “Do you have any idea who’ll have the Knight Rune? So far, it hasn’t been calling to anyone.”

This time Clant’s sigh clearly sounded like relief. “Not me, that’s for sure. You have to be a special kind of knight to have that rune and it goes a bit beyond power. You think you’ll get it?”

Camus shook his head. “I doubt it. I’m surprised Boris didn’t get it. Maybe Miklotov will.”

Clant quickly nodded. “Now, that I can believe, but for now, it remains uncertain. No one has attained it in years. I’m surprised Uriah didn’t.”

Camus briefly closed his eyes. “Same here.” He finished his Cherry Wine. “I have the Rage Rune though. That counts for something, right?”

“To me, it does. I wonder if we could Unite? Fire with fire.” Clant looked up. “Firestorm maybe? I guess we’ll find out soon enough.” 

* * *

 

Later that evening, they turned some heads on the way to the Tower. Most were looking at Clant and Camus believed that it must be the hair. Clant chose to keep his hair up, so Camus prayed that Gorudo would not be around to see it, and felt thankful that his prayers were answered. Even better, he didn’t see anyone he knew well, but suddenly began to wonder what Miklotov would have thought of the “cinnamon bun” hair on “The Flame Siren”.

Such thoughts died once they reached the top of the tower. The full moon glowed in the clear night sky and the air felt slightly chilled when the breeze picked up. Camus wished Clant had his hair down.

"I love nights like this,” Clant said as he stared at the stars. “Peaceful.” He grinned. “That is, until I start singing.”

“How long have you been doing that?” Camus asked, looking down at the fire lamps below. 

“Singing? All my life. As for Tower, since I was a squire.”

Camus gaped. “That long?”

“Indeed.” 

“Were you called The Flame Siren then?” 

“Yes. You might find this hard to believe, but Gorudo was the one who called me that. He’d tell Sir Patrick to ‘shut that Flame Siren up!’ Then, he’d meet with the Officers. The name stuck because of Uriah.”

Camus blinked. “Really?”

“Indeed it was. I imagine it was rather fitting considering that he was of water.”

Sudden shouting from afar interrupted them. Neither one of them knew what was being said, but they knew it had to have been loud and they knew without a doubt that the voice belonged to Gorudo himself. Clant’s blue eyes widened.

“You think he’ll come up here?” Camus asked.

“No. He has no reason to. Those poor people. Gods only know what they did or didn’t do.”

“Maybe he wanted something served now.” Camus shook his head, not finding his own joke funny.

Clant also shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that someone crossed him.”

Camus frowned. “Maybe he was screaming at one of his men.” A large part of him suspected that was not the case. 

“It’s possible, but I doubt it. Not where the shouting was coming from.” Clant looked towards the glowing moon. “When he does something like that, he’d tell those around him that ‘if you talk to them like a monster, they’ll listen.’

Camus gaped. He had never found it necessary to be that way, except in extraordinary circumstances. “That has a price.”

Clant nodded. “Heh, yes it does, and for all my faults, I have never been as despised as Gorudo. I think it’s more than just flare ups.” He narrowed his eyes. “There are rumors about him, but I don’t believe them. Surely you must have heard.”

“I have, actually.” Camus didn’t know what to think of such rumors. He understood politics and playing dirty, but he heard rumors of poisoning, painful poisoning. He never heard of a single Knight who would stoop to such a thing, especially not a Knight Commander.

“Mind what you say about him though,” Clant said a little sharply for Camus’ comfort. “He is a hero to me, just like Uriah was to you. How would you feel if you heard people bad mouthing him?”

“It’s his problem, not yours.”

“Hmm...you’re right, but still, I’d get angry for him as would many of the White Knights. No matter what others think of him, he has earned respect.” 

“But, if they’re open, at least you know where you stand with them.”

Clant shook his head. “Open, eh? When facing White Knights, they say nothing. Not openly, but actions speak louder than words, right? Now that I think of it, it’s what people think that matters most and in the minds of many people here,” Clant squeezed his eyes shut, “he is a worthless piece of shit. They’d position themselves to stab him in the back because they’d never stab him in the front.”

Camus looked away. “It doesn’t phase him. I never noticed it phasing him.”

“It doesn’t. That’s where Matilda is fortunate. Had he been a despot, half this country would hang or worse.”

“Whatever the case, people aren’t stupid. No way anyone would directly take him on.”

Clant smirked. “Indeed, so they wait.”

Camus raised his eyebrows. “Wait? For him to retire?”

“Either that or die. What else?”

“They can cope,” Camus answered with a shrug. “We’ve all been doing just fine.”

“Good answer  once again .”

“So, now what?” 

“I don’t know what,” Clant sighed. “I feel like the mood has changed and quite suddenly too.”

“My fault.” Camus chuckled.

“No, it’s not all your fault.”

“Will you sing for me? I can’t believe I didn’t think of it. This is where you sing.” Clant shook his head. Camus lowered his eyes. “Oh, I guess you’re not in the mood. He really could snuff you out...” He took a step closer, feeling tempted to pull on the ribbons so the breeze could carry Clant’s fiery hair. He wanted to see “The Flame Halo” if he could not hear “The Flame Siren.” He chose not to. He stood close, very close; all he had to do was lean forward. He could have sworn that he smelt an odd kind of tobacco, like a cinnamon clove, but decided that it likely came from elsewhere since he never noticed it before.

Clant turned to him. “Do you intend to kiss me?” Before Camus could do anything, he grinned. “Don’t even think about it. Your mouth has whiskey in it. I told you what would happen.”

Camus sighed. “Oh, of course.” He held out his hands and felt relief when Clant took them and gently squeezed.

“That’s not the only reason though. I read books--”

“Like Miklotov--”

“We do have similar tastes.” Clant nodded. “Seems we have similar beliefs too.”

“Oh,” Camus chuckled. “It’s okay.” 

“Good to know.” Clant narrowed his eyes. “Because if it wasn’t,” he looked past the battlement, “this tower is high enough to kill you.”

Camus smirked. “Or you.”

“Ah! I see you forgot what happened during our session!”

Both laughed before Camus replied, “Oh yea, I guess I did.”

“Why don’t you train with me tomorrow?”

“That would depend on the time.”

“Dawn.”

Camus sighed. “Another Miklotov...”

Clant tilted his head. “And White Knights. Every single man who became a White Knight greeted the dawn with a sword.”

“Uriah, Baudin, and Miklotov all ‘greeted the dawn with a sword’. So have a lot of knights and very few of them became White Knights.”

Clant half-smiled. “Fair enough, but Uriah was a Legendary, Miklotov will almost certainly become one, and then there is you.” He ran his fingers over Camus’ hands. “I don’t think you care about being Legendary, but I would like to train with you. I want us to greet the dawn together. Think of it as part of our second outing and we can have coffee after that.” Now, he fully smiled. “I know you would enjoy that.”

“Yea, I would,” Camus replied, shivering at the Clant’s light touch. “Alright. You win.”

“I have a strong tendency of doing so.” 

Camus said nothing. Instead, he finally learned forward, wrapping his arms around the other man, and making sure he was cheek to cheek. He smelt that tobacco again.  _ Clove it is. _ He chose not to ask where it came from; he preferred simply feeling Clant’s heart beating against his own and listening to his breath. When Clant returned the embrace, he smiled at the stars. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. A different sort of spark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clant has memories of his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a lot longer than it should. It certainly had nothing to do with Borderlands 3. Oh noo...well, I did go on vacation and I took my time. At first, I felt like this was a bit rushed in the end, but then I realized that well, sometimes less is more. Clant decided that he wanted a POV of his own. In fact, he wanted one for some time. So, he will get one.

He had memories of his own, memories he could not currently speak of, memories he knew that he would have to speak of eventually; memories that would have died with him had it not been for Camus' split second choice. 

Clant did not know how to feel about that. He heard everything they were talking about. His magically induced sleep did not make him deaf. He knew and he felt and he could show none of it. So, he slept and remembered.

He was indeed made First of Second the moment he became an avowed knight. Some knight officers believed that young Clant needed to "learn his place" and an older White Knight volunteered to try and teach him. Sure, Clant "learned his place" and won one of the fastest duels in the history of Matilda. Sir Patrick, who had retired the moment Nigel decided to issue the challenge, beamed with pride. Captain Edmumd shook his curly gray head, not at all surprised. Uriah looked like stone which contrasted with Baudin's gape. White Knight Captain Boris laughed and laughed and laughed at everything and everyone. Gorudo did what Edmund did, only he had a slight grin. 

"From squire to First of Second," The Knight Commander said, "not bad at all." 

With his gold mask held over his heart, Clant dropped to one knee and swore his oaths of allegiance as a White Knight Officer. Not unprecedented, but very uncommon. 

That afternoon, Clant downed so much coffee that he ended up chasing it with some ale. The world could have heard him, his friends, and new subordinates. He didn't even sing, only laughed, carrying on like it was his birthday. He stood a bit beyond the gates of Matilda with the other White Knight officers, his face hidden with his gold colored mask. He stared at the new recruits and one stood out in his mesh covered eyes: A young man with light brown hair and a smile that lit his cute face like the sun. Clant couldn't keep his eyes off of him.

"A fourteen year old recruit from Camaro," Captain Boris said. "It's been awhile since we've had one. He came with a recommendation. He’s already a Squire waiting for a Knight."

"I can find out more, if you like, Sir," Bailey said. Clant hoped that Boris would consent.

"That won't be necessary, First," Boris replied, much to Clant's disappointment. 

"First of the First," Clant said, wishing he could call his friend by name, but knew that he currently could not, "if I may, what is his name?"

"Camus," came the reply. "I know that much."

They fell silent when Uriah and his entourage walked past them towards the new recruits. The Legendary Red Knight Captain stood in front of Camus. Clant's eyes widened under his mask.

"Sir, request permission for Camus as my squire," Clant quickly stated.

"Denied," both Boris and Bailey answered. 

"Uriah has already staked his claim on him," Bailey continued. "Don't even think about it."

"From the looks of it, it's love at first sight."

That was Bertran, Second of First, the third friend who outranked him, but Clant knew that would change. 

"What makes you so certain, sir? They just met." 

"Seems obvious to me," Bertran replied. "It's Legendary Uriah. I would have shit my pants if I were Camus.”

"Sir, he doesn't seem like the sort who would shit his pants over anything," Clant answered.

"You're right," Bailey answered. "He exudes confidence, and I think it's real, but I also think he's hiding something. Like he has a past."

"He is how old now?" Bertran asked. "Seems kind of young to have a past."

"Squire Miklotov is younger and he has a past," Boris replied. "It wouldn't surprise me one bit if this Camus had a past." 

"We all have one," Clant said before sighing.  
***

At the tower, Clant stood "as he was". That is, he stood with his back to the balcony, his arms and feet crossed, and his golden mask in the sitting room a few paces away. A strong breeze blew through his red hair and he glanced over his shoulder, knowing that Uriah and Camus would be behind the wall for hours. Just like he would be at 'his' tower for the same amount of time.

"No squire for you," Bailey was saying as he folded his arms over the railing. He stood close to a head shorter than Clant. "Not that you would have wanted anyone other than that boy."

Clant shrugged. "I wouldn't have minded Miklotov, but you're right."

"No way you'd get him. He's been Boris's Page for years and you know it." 

"True," Clant looked down at his friend and commanding officer. "It won't be long before the next round of duels starts. I'll be requesting permission from Gorudo to bypass Bertran. "

"So, you intend to take ME on." That wasn't a question and they both knew it. "If you beat me, I'll be calling YOU sir!" Bailey laughed.

"When I beat you, you will indeed," Clant replied with a small smile. "Then, you and Bertran can decide which lieutenant you'll be." 

Bailey sighed. "And then Boris...when would that be?"

"Eventually." 

"I knew you were driven, but damn..." Bailey shrugged, his eyes downcast. "So, the saying is true. There's always someone younger and hungrier coming up behind you." 

Clant chuckled. "I like that." He nodded. "There's more to it and you know it. Why do you think we're White Knights?" 

Bailey smiled as he looked at the sun kissed clouds. "Yup. Best of the best."

"Indeed we are," Clant grinned. "Sir."

"I wonder what Bertran will think of this?"

"He's welcome to challenge me. " His grin widened. "I always welcome challenges."  
***

That night, Clant's voice sailed in the air. He knew Uriah and Camus neared the tower. /Can you hear my voice? Legendary Uriah? Camus? Can you hear my voice?/ He could see them from above and he could swear that the boy smiled. Even from afar, Clant sensed it and smiled in return. He looked to the torchiere to his right. He could look into the fire and see whatever he wanted to see, but he didn't. Instead he walked, listening to his white boots against the stone floor, his blue eyes focusing on the clear night sky. /There is a storm inside my eyes. Can you see them? Dressed in black and white/. He smiled through his song. Black and white: the colors of the White Knights. Best of the best. All that united the colored Knights was a badge worn on the left side of the chest, a crest of the Matilda.

/Is my ode a waste? A waste of hope? Of time? Will you only be a dream, foreign squire? With that quiet smile/? Only his song answered the question, but it only gave sound to the otherwise quiet evening. Soon afterward, he did indeed become First of the First, the youngest of all knights to do so.  
***

He was indeed at the tower when Camus and fellow squire Miklotov walked from the coffee shop to the barracks. He sang to the horizon, to the building, to the people of Matilda, and to the squires below. /Miklotov. What luck for Camus. That boy will make a man out of you. That is, if I don't/.

It wasn't long before Clant was proven right. Miklotov became Camus's primary sparring partner. Even Uriah and Baudin looked on with widened eyes. Clant watched from afar, noting that Camus didn't seem to like the mornings. 

"Not a good sign," he muttered, his eyes narrowing behind the mesh of his white mask. "Your enemy won't give a shit what time it is. Uriah, you know this..." Before any of those knights could see him, he walked away. 

Clant found that he walked away often. Sure, one could blame being a White Knight Officer and moving in different paths at different times, but that alone wasn’t enough. He’d find himself watching Camus train, noting how his style looked more like a dancer’s than a fighter’s. He grinned at the thought, knowing that one can easily do both as he did, but Camus had a different style, a different sort of spark. Clant noted that fire favored Camus, and he smiled at that too. 

“Another Flame Siren perhaps?” He whispered to no one, his mask clasped over the right side of his chest.

“I doubt it,” Bailey suddenly appeared by his side.

Clant gasped. “Oh! Why, hello, Second of First.”

“I still have that over you,” Bailey smirked. 

“Aye, I noticed. Try it with Captain Boris sometime.”

“Not in a million years and you know it. Anyway,” Bailey looked at Camus, who was now with Uriah and Baudin. “So far as I can see, there’s only room for one ‘Flame Siren’ and it’s you.”

“Awww...that’s sweet of you, Bailey.”

“Figured you’d like that. Both squires are strong, but people are saying that Miklotov is stronger.”

Clant nodded. “I’m not surprised, so once they finally do fight it out, magic will determine who wins.”

“Looks like it. All I know is that both of them are dangerous to underestimate.”

“That’s obvious. Tell me something I don’t know.”

“You’ll never have him.”

Clant’s eyes widened. “What makes you so sure?”

“You’ve seen him around Uriah. Come on, you had to have noticed.”

“Oh,” Clant looked away. “Of course I did. How could I not?” 

“Going from what I know of Camus, he’ll make his move as soon as he can,” Bailey shook his head. “Whew...I mean, I’m not too surprised as he came all the way from Camaro as a fourteen year old, but even thinking of pursuing someone like Uriah. I’m impressed.”

Clant nodded. “And here I am, not even trying.”

“If it’s any consolation, he’s fascinated by you.”

Clant raised his eyebrows. “Fascinated, eh?”

“Yea. I heard that he’d like you to sing for him and Uriah someday.”

Helpless laughter followed Bailey’s statement. “Bold indeed!” 

“You’re known as ‘The Flame Siren’ for a reason. Sirens aren’t supposed to approach.”

“Ah, very true,” Clant replied as he donned his mask and pulled his hood over his red hair. “I’ll see you at the Tower.” He walked away, like he always did.  
***

The next two years felt like a blur of the usual. He dreamed of Camus, of that smile that shone a certainty beyond youth, of the light brown hair, of the matching eyes, of that adorable face, of his voice that did not lack for a Siren’s song, but Clant knew that it would be a crooning tenor rather than a powerful baritone. 

/Not that it would be terrible/. Clant thought as he headed for the tower, only to be halted by a bunch of hastily passing Red Knights and he gasped in horror when he saw Uriah being carried towards the Healers. Camus had a face of stone, but Clant knew what lied beneath that surface.

“Bandits,” First of Second Bertran said as he approached with Bailey by his side. 

“Bandits?” Clant echoed. 

“Not just any bandits either,” Bailey replied. “They were Red Knights who were thrown out years ago. Louis and Phillip.”

Clant remembered the scandal when he was thirteen, but he barely paid attention to it. He simply did what everyone else did: assumed that they would become knights elsewhere or become mercenaries. Basically, something that involved moving on with life. He never thought for a moment that any Matilda Knight would be become a bandit.

“They will be dead no matter who they were.” White Knight Captain Boris said from behind. All three White Knight officer’s saluted then stood at attention. Boris nodded as he stood in front of them. “As you were.”

“It explains a lot,” Bertran answered. “They’ve been around for years. Pretty tough too.”

“Not as tough as they were,” Boris said. “Many of those bandits died.”

Clant smirked. “If it had been us, ALL of them would have died.”

Boris laughed in a heavily accented voice similar to Miklotov’s, only far deeper. “Yes, but unfortunately, we were not the ones out there.”

“Uriah though...” Bailey lowered his head. “A Legendary Knight to fall like that. A stray arrow too.”

“Have any idea who shot it?” Clant asked. “Tell me they are dead.”

“Probably Phillip,” Bailey replied. “From what I remember, he was good with arrows.”

“Find out more,” Boris ordered, then looked at Clant. “I can only hope that whoever shot Uriah is dead. Otherwise, they’d better pray that the gods are merciful because Baudin will not be.”

“No one in Matilda would be,” Clant replied. /Least of all us/.

“If there is anyone who should be ruthless, it’s Camus,” Boris looked towards the Healing Rooms. “I know how he feels about Uriah.”

Bertran frowned. “Doesn’t everyone? Seemed obvious to me, at least.”

Boris shook his head. “No, just us and, of course, Miklotov.”

Clant had been in the Tower’s uppermost sitting room when he found out that Uriah had died. He sat in one of the chairs holding his mask like a teddy bear. Bertran and Bailey sat on the couch nearby while Boris stood large and tall in front of a window slit. 

“The healers said he would be okay. I heard them say it!” Bailey exclaimed, his breath coming out in huge gasps. 

“Do you know who did it?” Boris asked.

“Yes,” Bailey nodded. “It was Phillip. I know it now, but Louis supplied the arrows. According to my contacts, Louis’ parents supplied them.”

Boris quickly turned. “What!?”

“Seems they’ve been doing it for years. No one suspected anything.”

“How?” Clant shook his head, just shocked. He could barely keep his mouth closed. “Surely, people in your...network would have known and said something.”

Bailey shook his head. “Even they didn’t know until his parents slipped up. A Legendary Knight going after their son will unnerve anyone.” 

“Ah, of course,” Boris lowered his head until his beard smashed against his massive chest. “Seems they had many people fooled.”

“Looks like it,” Bailey replied.

Clant looked down at his mask, painted red on the white edges. He thought of Camus. “What about his squire? He’ll be a knight soon.” He drew in a sharp breath. “Uriah won’t be there to see it.” He refused to think of anything beyond that.

“Camus is a wreck. He hides it well, but you’d sense otherwise. I certainly did.” 

“Is it safe to say that Baudin will be Red Knight Captain?” Bertran finally asked. 

“I don’t doubt it,” Boris replied. “Right now, no one but White Knights can defeat him. As for Camus,” he smiled, “Misha will take care of him.”

Clant leaned back against the chair. “Sir, request permission to go after the bandits.”

Bailey raised his eyebrows, Bertran grinned with a hopeful look, and Boris simply grunted before answering.

“You might as well. I’m aware that it’s not our job, but I know you have always admired Uriah. Gorudo will have no problem with this, but Baudin would, so be mindful of that. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Clant replied before smiling, his hands tracing his mask. /Captain...soon, you will be calling me sir/.  
***

 

He found Camus soon after Uriah's funeral. His eyes widened under his purely white mask, and couldn't help but wonder why the future Knight would even think of approaching White Knight territory. He did indeed ask. He did indeed sense that Camus was about to break down and cry, but he knew that Camus would fall on his sword before revealing such things. Clant understood. When Camus ran off, all he could do was stand there following only with his mesh caged eyes. He wanted to pursue, but couldn't bring himself to do so, just like he couldn't bring himself to show up for Uriah's funeral. Only the Red Knights did. When the White Knight guards showed up, Clant acknowledged their salutes with a simple nod and climbed the tower to his usual spot. 

"Don't worry, dear Camus," he whispered to the clouds. "I will avenge Uriah for you. You loved him, I understand that. Let me have this." /Then, I can find out just how fascinated you are with me/. 

He did indeed slaughter the remaining bandits. He did indeed burn Philip alive with potent flame towers, and slashed Louis to pieces with his unnamed short sword. Bertran, Bailey and a squad of eager White Knights, including the Tower guards did the same with the rest. 

/If only...the White Knights were there/!

/If only I was there. No one would be dead/. 

/Poor bandits never stood a chance/!

/Should have just moved on. You could have been anything else/! 

None of it mattered now. /Now all of you have died knowing why WE are White Knights. The best of the best/!

He was indeed reprimanded in private by Captain Boris, but barely. The conversation ended with:

"I should have been there," the big man said, "and if Gorudo were not Knight Commander he would have been there too."

"At least Baudin seemed forgiving. I know I overstepped my bounds, but frankly, I don't care."

"Heh. Just what I expect from you. Miklotov had wanted to go with you, but he is my squire, so if I couldn't, then neither could he."

"Ah," Clant nodded. "I can't say I blame him. They are very close..." /How close, I wonder.../.

"Oh yes. As far as I am concerned, Misha was the best thing to have ever happened to him."

Clant quietly laughed, but inwardly he hoped that HE would be the best thing now that Uriah was gone. 

That night he sang. This time, he had an audience and soon that included Camus and Miklotov. The moment he saw them leave one of the many Rockaxe taverns, was the moment he timed his song carefully. When the squires moved beneath the tower, he looked to the flame and sang a different song, hoping that no one would sense him.

He fell silent while he listened to the young men.

“I think about him a lot, to be honest, and since Uriah died...” Camus had said.

Clant gasped, his heart racing, but didn’t have a chance to do anything else because soon afterward, he heard Miklotov say:

“We will duel soon. On that day, you will be my adversary and I will treat you as such.” 

Clant chuckled. "I expect no less from you, 'Misha'. Make him stronger. Keep him that way." He turned away from the torchiere and looked to the full moon. "This is terrible, Uriah, but I have a chance now. No matter how long it will take, I will have him. What luck..."  
***

He stood with Bailey on a bridge that overlooked the arena. He wore no mask and his flame kissed hair flowed freely in the wind. He saw Camus and Miklotov standing together.

"Poor Miklotov, I can hear his teeth chattering from here," Bailey said, but his tone indicated a light sarcasm.

"You don't buy his act, do you?" Clant asked, knowing damned well what the answer would be.

"Not for a moment. I mean, the stiffness is real, we both know that, but we also know that Miklotov has been known to throw people off quite literally and figuratively."

Clant agreed. "The last person who underestimated him didn't live to tell about it."

"Well, that last person tried with you too, but yea, he didn't think a little teen boy would finish it."

"To be honest, neither did I. Good thing I never crossed "dear Misha."

Bailey shrugged. "Eh, well, Boris would have gotten him if neither of you did."

Clant looked to Camus. The eighteen year old had a smile on his adorable face. Clant felt reminded of a secret agents who could charm the scales off of snakes. "What of him? You think he's acting?" 

"No way. Come on, you know better than that. You've been watching him for years."

"Should be interesting."

"That's putting it mildly," Bailey exclaimed. "Anyway, almost everyone thinks Miklotov will win."

"In a contest of mere swords, I would agree, but this is more than just swordsmanship, this is magic and strategy too," Clant replied. "Miklotov has been as inconsistent as the wind he carries and he does not have a head for strategy."

"But, he's beaten Camus before. Quite often, in fact."

"Yes, but only when his magic succeeds, so luck will play a big hand.”

"Hah! Yea. Too bad it didn't do me any good," Bailey shook his head, clearly remembering his duel with Clant.

Clant shrugged. "I make my own luck." He smirked.

"That's what Miklotov will have to do, and I wouldn't put it past him, but still...Camus will do the same."

"If he's smart, and I'm sure he is, he will do precisely that. So, what colors do you think they'll be wearing?" He inquired. "Think either one of them will be a White Knight?"

"Never in a million years. Very few make it to even the lowest ranked White Knights, much less our level," Bailey looked intently at Clant. "Uriah was right. If Camus becomes a Red Knight, then it would be for the best. He's ambitious and so is Miklotov. They are younger and they are starving. If they want a chance to be Captain, then the lower colors would be the only way."

"Camus versus Baudin. Now that's something I would love to see."

"You just might, but it falls to Miklotov." Bailey looked back down the arena, resting his arms against the railing. 

"Wherever Camus ends up, I'll have him," Clant stated as if it were fact, "and his rank would be irrelevant then." 

Bailey shook his head. "No, I still don't think so." When Clant’s eyes widened, he elaborated. "I mean that you don't have much of a chance."

Clant shook his head. "Some friend you are."

"I'm saying it because I am a friend," Bailey answered. "I mean, the day I see you with Camus as anything other than casual friends will be the day you wear your hair in cinnamon rolls."

"That's a woman's hair," Clant quickly stated.

"It's never stopped you before."

"Exactly," Clant smiled, looking back down at the two future Knights preparing for their duel. "One day," he glanced sidelong at his longtime friend, "you will see me with that hair." 

They fell silent as the duel began, and eventually gasped when they realized that it would be the longest duel in Matilda's history.

"Oh! You can't be serious! Only Uriah and Baudin lasted this long!" Bailey gripped the railing. "Not even White Knight duels were like this."

Clant focused his attention on Camus, who moved with the grace of a swan. "It is indeed a dance to him," he said. 

"He got that from Camaro. His father taught him. They called it sword dancing," Bailey replied. "Miklotov knows it, but you know how he is."

"Ah yes," Clant nodded. "Miklotov is like Boris. Brute force is the name of the game to them."  
/While I have always done both/. 

"It will do him no good if his magic fails."

And it did. Miklotov's dark widened as the wind was nowhere to be felt. He found himself moving backwards against Camus' forward thrusts. 

"Oh! He is fucked!" Bailey almost shouted, but managed to keep it a shrill whisper.

"Indeed he is," Clant felt elation flow through him and the shock of the crowd could have shaken stone. "Camus will win."

"Oh yea, but he'll win the hard way."

"Good. That's how it should be." 

And it was, but Miklotov did not dance, he did what both White Knights figured he would do: USE AS MUCH FORCE AS HUMANLY POSSIBLE, but Camus danced around it all.

"There's a saying that I'm thinking of now," Bailey said. "'Never give a sword to a man who can't dance'." 

"Go down there and tell Miklotov that."

Bailey laughed. "Nah, I think I’ll pass!" He grew quiet despite the loud shouts from the crowd, but Clant still heard him. "You know, whatever happens, they'll be the youngest in Matilda's history." 

Clant nodded. "Indeed. It's always a matter of time. I made history myself, so did many knights. So what?"

Bailey looked back at the arena. "So Miklotov is about to yield. I owe you money." 

Clant smiled. "A lot of people will be owing me money." His smile broadened when Bailey thrust some potch into his hand before muttering a 'see you later' and walking away. He leaned against the railing, his red hair blowing all over his face, but he could still see Camus as he bent double the moment Miklotov knelt in submission. Soon afterward, he saw Camus look up at him, AT HIM. His felt his heart almost stop. /Can you see me as I see you/? He wanted to go down there during the naming of the swords, but he was not yet a Captain, so when the wind blew once more, he contended himself with a smile before walking away. 

/Siren's don't approach/. He remembered those words every time he found himself unable to make any kind of move. He spent more time than usual in training just to watch Camus arrive a little later. 

"Still hate mornings I see," Clant would mutter before heading to his usual spot at the Tower. 

It didn't stop Camus from become a Second Lieutenant two years later, and no, Clant did not approach. /Sirens don't approach/. He told himself over and over again that it had to with rank, different times, different rituals, different ways among the Colors. But, Miklotov always remained around both Boris AND Camus. /Miklotov is not a Siren/. When he thought of Captain Boris, he thought of doing what he always did: Greet the dawn with a sword, bide his time, and approach. 

He did indeed become White Knight Captain. No, not the youngest, but close enough, faster than anyone. Clant made his own history as he knelt before his Knight Commander and swore the Captain's Oath. 

/There's always someone younger and hungrier behind you/!

/One day, you too will face such a person, Clant/. 

Clant glanced upward and saw Camus and Miklotov sitting together. /Or maybe I will face two/.

/Can you see me now? No, you cannot. I am masked, my hair is bound in braids, and you are with another/. 

He did indeed celebrate that night. He knew there were no hard feelings with Boris, but he still couldn't bring himself to ask about Camus. 

"Why don't you invite him?" Bertran asked. 

Clant could only sigh. "We are White Knights and they are not."

"You can try talking to him..." Bertran replied.

"Sure, I could, but not now..." Clant took a swill of ale before anyone could reply.

He couldn't bring himself to run back up the stairs and speak to him, invite him to sit with the White Knights. He told himself that it would not have been appropriate. 

/Sirens don't approach/.  
***

 

"Will I always be a shadow to you?" Clant whispered to the mirror in his dressing room. His uniform looked little different from the other White Knights. Anything that set him apart he wore long before even being a White Knight, much less Captain. Dawn approached and he didn't need anything or anyone to tell him that. He simply knew; he always did and he would greet the morning fire with his own. 

He was there when Camus defeated the Red Second of First and he was there when Camus defeated Raymond. Behind mesh eyes, he watched. Behind his mask, he smiled. In his bed, he dreamed of Camus lying next to him. 

He wore no mask the day Camus finally approached. Through the fire, he saw him speak to the tower guards Through the fire, he smiled at how Camus handled those guards. /Those poor men...didn't know what hit them. Didn't know who they were dealing with/.

"Yes, I am indeed Clant," he whispered and waited. 

/You are not a shadow. You are all light.../

/We spoke...and you became mine. You looked upon me...and you became mine. I looked at you, your eyes so close to mine, your hands warm like mine...and you became mine. I don't hate everyone. I never did. I loved you...and you were mine. For three years...you were mine/. 

He heard other voices, voices that had nothing to do with the past. He could hear that Camus left. Through his sleep, he knew. Gods, he knew. His friends, his followers.../NO/! Gone...and he was powerless to do anything but sleep and dream of the past Camus dragged out to everyone in the room. He could feel Camus's hand holding his. 

/I can hear you damn it! I can hear you and I am powerless.../

/Despite all that has happened, despite all of my rage...I.../

/I loved you...I still do.../

/Damn you.../


	6. The Ace of Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A crash course through memories, tarot, the stars and simply building what Camus and Clant had. Slowly, but surely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yea, it's been a minute. You can blame Love Nikki and my own track record, but I hope to complete this fic soon as other plot bunnies are nibbling at me.

As Camus stared into his coffee, he couldn't help but think of the morning. The only person who rose earlier than the White Knights was Miklotov.

"The gods don't get up this early," he remembered telling Clant, who smirked.

"Naw, but we do," he replied, his red hair glowing against the sunrise. "That's why we are knights and they are not."

Camus finally noticed the black headband worn over Clant's head. Other White Knights wore white headbands on their forehead. Camus knew it couldn't have been a Captain's privilege because Boris didn't wear any kind of headband and Gorudo certainly didn't. /I guess it's a Clant thing/. It wasn't the only "Clant thing" he finally thought about. 

He recalled how Clant stood among his men and immediately thought of the other Captains. Blue Captain Edmund stood with his hands behind his back, stiff and formal. He acted the way Camus thought a Knight Captain would. Baudin, however, had no such stance. He simply stood with his hands at their sides. He recalled Uriah doing the same thing, only less animated. Boris proved little different.

Clant, on the other hand, proved different, as usual, to Camus. His arms were folded across his chest. He'd try to look impartial, but he never quite managed it. To anyone with eyes, it was obvious who his friends were and Camus doubted that Clant could set aside such sentiments.

"What are you thinking about?" Clant asked, snapping Camus out of his thoughts.

"Oh..." Camus sighed. "The morning..."

"That still bothers you?" Clant raised his eyebrows before shaking his head. "That's a weakness. You're enemies won't care if you're trying to sleep or not."

"I know," Camus answered, helplessly grinning. "Uriah would tell me. Half the knights of Matilda would tell me." He wanted to say to Clant that /you have weaknesses of your own/, but he couldn't bring himself too. Instead, he watched Clant pour an ungodly amount of cinnamon and sugar into his coffee. "You want coffee with that?"

"Heh. Let me guess, you drink yours black."

"No," Camus shook his head. "I just never thought of adding cinnamon to coffee."

Clant smiled. "You wouldn't believe the things I would add."

Camus glanced over to where Baudin sat with his men and saw him throw around tarot cards to everyone interested in the group reading. Baudin did that often, especially with Uriah and he found himself sighing as he remembered the reading Uriah got the day--

"What are you thinking of now?" Clant asked, following Camus' gaze. "Oh, that? You want a tarot reading?"

Camus shook his head as he sipped on his slightly sweet coffee. "I just remember Uriah's reading..." 

"No matter what they said, they're not etched in stone. They didn't cause him to die."

"I know." Camus recalled the cards Baudin tossed at Uriah. He never had a spread or any kind of organization and he used as few or many cards as he saw fit. Camus doubted that a spread would have made a difference. The cards were wonderful for the most part. The Star. Yes, Uriah was a Star. The World. He was Camus' world at least for awhile. Pentacle cards, wands, a couple of cups, but two cards blighted the entire reading: The Tower and The Ten of Swords. "Those two..." Camus shook his head as Clant widened his eyes. "At the time, I didn't take it seriously. No one did, not even the ones who knew the tarot. Baudin told him not to worry because the other cards were good."

"Of course not. No one wants to hear bad fortunes." Clant frowned. "The Ten of Swords..."

"It was the last card..." Camus took a flat out gulp. "I should never have mentioned this. It's painful even now...just thinking of how everything seemed fine and then-" He felt his chest tighten.

Clant sighed, adding cinnamon and sugar to another cup of coffee. "It"s okay. You don't have to talk about it."

"That's what Miklotov told me." Camus said before changing the subject. "Did you ever do any kind of reading before going out there? Do White Knights even engage in that? I never even thought of it until Baudin whipped out his deck while I was still a squire."

"Not me," Clant shook his head. "Not at that time. I didn't need it. White Knights generally don't bother with fortunes." He grinned. "We make our own luck." His smile suddenly vanished. "Then again, so did Uriah...I." He shook his head.

Now it was Camus turn to say that it was okay. 

\---

"Tarot?" Nash asked. "I didn't know knights of Matilda bothered with the Tarot."

"They do," Miklotov answered. "Quite a bit, in fact."

"The tower," Maki said, "it means unexpected change, or things will crumble due to a bad foundation. But, it isn't always a bad thing."

Camus chuckled. "Yea. I remember Baudin telling Uriah that 'maybe you'll have sex tonight'. I imagine it can be celebratory, but the Ten of Swords..." He shook his head. "I have never seen that have any happy connotation, except to say that you need to look at things from a new perspective. Not much of a comfort and the only perspective Uriah has now is in the death realm." He sighed, looking down at the deck he took from the wagon. A deck that depicted all sorts of fire and what it represented.

"Clant had a deck?" Miklotov asked. "Why am I not surprised? And why am I not surprised it is that kind of deck?"

Camus shrugged. "You know how he is."

"He told fortunes?" Nash looked shocked, but then again, he didn't know Clant the way the Matilda Knights did.

"Oh no," Camus shook his head as he recalled what Clant divined. "He just liked the art, as far as I know. If he's used them for anything other than admiring, then I've never seen it."

"No amount of divination did him or his friends any good," Miklotov commented. 

"Clant often talked about making his own luck," Camus replied, going through the flame deck. "You saw it here. We had to make our own too." 

Maki smiled, staring pointedly at the magic dagger Camus kept on his belt. "That and it seems that the Wheel of Fortune spun in our favor." 

"Yea, it did." Camus stared down at Clant. "To be honest, it had to. The White Knights would call themselves 'the best of the best' and he was considered the ace of everything."

\-------

Clant held a pint of ale in his hand as he watched Camus enjoy a cup of champagne. He had one leg cross over the other and he grinned. Despite the White Knight uniform and badge, he didn't look much like a knight, not to Camus. Then again, what's a knight supposed to look like? Other than the obvious.

"Really? Camus?" A red eyebrow raised.

Camus sipped at the grape champagne. "Yes. Don't tell me you have a problem? This is my holy water."

Clant chuckled. "Holy water? More like sewer water."

"Like your ale?" Camus shot back with a grin.

"Oh good...good," Clant nodded with a laugh. "I'm glad you feel that way. More ale for me and more of that for you." He pointed at the glass cup. "But, champagne in a cup? Well, whatever. If it makes you feel any better, I don't mind a good wine." He sighed. "My mother made all sorts of alcohol. It made her famous." 

"The Crimson Brewery?" Camus remembered seeing it on more than a few occasions. 

"That's the one. It's also a distillery and a winery. She didn't own the place, but she might as well have." 

"Do you make your own?" Camus asked.

Clant shook his head. "Nope. I just drink it, well, some of it."

Captain Baudin sat nearby and he laughed at, well, neither men knew what. Clant looked before shaking his head. 

"The runes! A table full of drinks. He just loves Happy Hour."

Camus smirked. "I certainly don't mind it."

"Table full of drinks. I swear, he's the only man who does that."

"King of Cups?"

"Nah. He's as crazy as I am."

"He isn't fire like you." Camus frowned. "Or even me now that I think about it. He's always been of water. I have never seen him use another element."

Clant nodded."True. You could be right after all. And, if you define the King of Cups as the one who drinks the most, he'd certainly qualify. You could be the Ace of Cups."

Camus shrugged. "I doubt it. Frankly, that sounds more like you."

"Maybe. Course I love happy hour because you get two for one." He laughed. "It's a better deal. I love those!"

\-------

At the tower, Clant's voice sailed into the wind, over the city of Matilda. Camus stood beside him, listening to the voice that was as captivating as his red hair and his gorgeous features. When Clant fell silent, Camus spoke.

"Sounds sad..." 

"Of course it does. It's a sad song."

"What language?"

"The language of Highland. My ancestors were from there. I guess that's one of good things my mother managed. She never let our old language die."

"What's it about?"

"A woman who grieved for her husband. His name was Dark Haired Allen and he was a sailor. His widow sang this song when she discovered that he had drowned. She wanted to go with him, but didn't have it in her, but she'd go out every morning and look for his body so she could drink his hearts blood "though all would abhor it".

Camus blinked. "What?"

"In this day and age, no one in Matilda or Highland would think of doing such a thing, but the old way was different. We'd drink the blood of our dead."

Camus shook his head. "No way."

"It was /our/ way. Both in Matilda and in Highland. It'd give us strength. For her, not only would it give her strength, he would be inside her forever. At least that's how she saw it."

"Did she ever find him?"

Clant narrowed his eyes at the clouds. "Nah. She lost all will to live and eventually died in the river. Ironically enough, she was found next to her husband's dead body." 

"Oh..." Camus looked down. 

Clant leaned against the balcony as he turned to face Camus. "Would you drink Uriah's blood?"

"No!"

"Not even if it gave you strength?"

"Would you?" Camus shot back.

Clant simply shook his head. "No. I didn't love him the way you did."

"Maybe if I was brought up believing the way your people did, but I wasn't. Obviously, the practice stopped."

"Indeed it did. Too many bloodborn illnesses. Whoops."

Camus chuckled. "It does sound romantic though."

"That's because it is."

"To drown though...what a death."

"That's why I say fuck water. I'd rather bathe in fire."

\----

"Disgusting!" Miklotov exclaimed hours later in an eatery when Camus told him. 

"You might have thought differently years ago," he replied.

Miklotov shrugged. "Maybe, but I wouldn't now. It would not surprise me if Clant would do it.”

Camus smiled. "I wonder if he would do that for me if anything ever happened to me?"

Miklotov frowned. "Why are you asking such a thing?"

Camus shrugged. "Just curious."

"And why are you asking /me/?"

"I don't know," Camus chuckled. "Rhetorical question, I guess. I'd ask him, but I don't think our relationship is deep enough to ask such a question at this time."

"I think you can take a few guesses though."

"I just wonder what made him sing that song. It's sad..."

"It's pretty," Miklotov replied after a spoonful of stew. "I guess he was in a mood. He gets that way sometimes. You'll soon find that he has good reason to. But, I will not tell you. It's not my job, but please be careful about asking him certain questions."

 

\---------

As usual, Clant handed Camus his ass after the formal morning training. The overcast sky didn't care and the witnessing knights, especially White Knights, found it funny. Miklotov had also been present and simply shook his head.

"We're pretty similar in style," Clant said with a smirk. "You're more of a thrust type, but I swing."

"Like Miklotov..." Camus sighed, looking towards his best friend.

"Indeed." Clant nodded.

"And your rage rune..." Camus shook his head.

"You'll get one too, I'm sure. Sooner than you think too."

They walked away from the training area, towards a lone large tree that served as a marker. Camus and pretty much all of Matilda knew that Miklotov frequented this area at sunrise.

'Do you ever pay attention to star signs?" Clant asked.

"Sometimes. Why?"

Smiling, Clant turned. "Honestly, I don't give a shit about star signs, but I thought about it after our first date. I'm a Leo and you're a Sagittarius."

"Both fire signs," Camus replied, remembering that Uriah was an Aries as was Baudin, despite both using water runes. He then realized that Miklotov was a Scorpio and quickly wondered why the stars were coming up now.

"For the two of us, it means 'Explosion'. But, when I roar, I don't sound like a lion, I sound like a dragon."

"And I've never in my life used a bow." 

"And the day that Miklotov is a scorpion will be the day I turn into a cat."

"I wonder what fortunes mean for us..." Camus found himself musing. "Tarot, runes, stars...the cards proved accurate..." he fell silent.

Clant shrugged. "The tarot's pretty, the stars are beautiful at night, and runes are for magic." He looked up at the overcast sky before looking back at Camus. "It's entertainment, to be honest." He held out his beautiful hands and Camus quickly took them. "I hope that one day, we'll be able to unite attack and it will be called "Explosion”. Given how we are now and what we will be, I don't see why not."

"It would be interesting for sure."

Camus would have liked to learn forward and kiss Clant's lips, but he smelt that clove again and the knowledge that they should bathe first. Of course.


End file.
